


Grown Folks

by Shamelessquestions (KagekitsuneXXX)



Series: Sexual Harassment in the Workplace [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, M/M, Meta, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Slice of Life, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 08:26:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11353647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KagekitsuneXXX/pseuds/Shamelessquestions
Summary: Will we ever have it all figured out? (A SHITW mini-sequel)





	1. Rules of Engagement

**Author's Note:**

> Some questions you may or may not have:
> 
> You: What the what now?  
> Me: I know right? It's a mini-sequel to [Sexual Harassment in the Workplace](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1349920), a fic you haven't thought about in years!
> 
> You: So... do I have to read the original to understand this?  
> Me: You don't have to do nothin' you don't wanna do. Honestly, I don't think it's necessary, though you might not understand a lot of the internal references and you'll probably be left wondering who the heck half these people are. You can still treat it as a stand-alone.  
> For those who read the first one, you can check out [this tumblr post](http://goodkwuestion.tumblr.com/post/101292808484/shitw-purge) to get a quick idea of what some of the characters have been up to leading into this story.
> 
> You: I dig this or one of your other stories. Can I translate them?  
> Me: I'm really glad you enjoyed my work. However, I'm not allowing translations on ANY of my works at this time.
> 
> You: ...but I've seen translations of your stuff before.  
> Me: Yeah, that means they took my work without permission and dishonor on them and all their cows. Let me know if and where you see any, because they aren't supposed there.
> 
> Oh and a shout out to Anwaar and her friends on Twitter. You guys remain the best hype squad I've ever seen. Thanks for loving TIPDIG so much. ♥
> 
> Now on with the show.

_I should be over all the butterflies_  
_But I'm into you_  
_And baby even on our worst nights_  
_I'm into you_  
_Let 'em wonder how we got this far_  
_'Cause I don't really need to wonder at all_  
_Yeah, after all this time I'm still into you_

_-Paramore "Still Into you"_

* * *

 

Mickey was already glaring by the time Ian made it into his office. He was late with Mickey’s lunch and Ian could only put on his best conciliatory smile as he dumped the bags of food on his partner’s desk.

“Sorry, sorry, storyboarding ran longer than I planned,” Ian said and dropped down into the chair across from Mickey’s. “But I’ve got some good stuff though.”

Mickey sniffed at the apology and then eyed the bags suspiciously. None of them said “Chipotle”. “Where’s my burrito?”

“Alright, okay, now just hear me out,” Ian began quickly, which had warning bells going off in Mickey’s head. “You know that Senegalese place that opened up a few blocks over?”

“Ian, I swear to god…”

“It’s really, really good, Mick! It’s nothing crazy, it’s basically just chicken and rice; you’ll love it!” Ian continued as he unpacked some containers. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

Admittedly, Ian’s recommendations were unimpeachable eighty percent of the time. It was that remaining twenty percent that had Mickey waking up in cold sweats and feeling ghostly stomach cramps months later. That twenty percent was all Mickey needed to remain sceptical of Ian’s offerings for the rest of their lives. Mickey crossed his arms and scowled as Ian pushed a sealed container towards him.

“Chicken yassa,” Ian nodded and nudged the food closer.

“Where’s my burrito?”

“Just try a little bit, please? I promise you’ll love it.”

Despite the gentle urgings, Mickey remained unmoved and Ian abruptly gave up in a huff. “Fine, whatever,” Ian grumbled as he rummaged through the bags for Mickey’s hidden burrito. “Eat your pseudo-Mexican, Dorito-gordita crap!”

“That’s Taco Bell,” Mickey said dryly, now even more suspicious as he prepared to unwrap his lunch. Ian never gave up that easily.

“I was going to let you have this if you had just tried a few bites though,” Ian said as he unveiled a giant Snickers bar. Mickey paused as Ian placed it on the table. “But since you’d rather have that…”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “You are aware that there is a vending machine full of Snickers bars just down the hallway, right? Or that I can just walk my ass to the nearest Duane Reade, or drive to Costco and get a metric shit-ton, yeah?”

“Yep, you could definitely do any of those things,” Ian agreed easily, “but you and I both know that none of those Snickers bars…” Ian leaned forward and tapped the candy tantalizingly, “would be this Snickers bar.”

The two locked eyes for a moment before Mickey broke his glare to glance back down at the candy bar. He rolled his eyes again before shoving away his burrito and grabbing the sealed plastic bowl. He pulled off the lid and poked suspiciously at the food. “One bite?”

“A couple,” Ian said, already irritatingly smug in his assured victory.

Mickey snorted noisily before spearing a piece of chicken. He shoved a forkful in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. It was delicious. _“Damn it.”_

“Good huh?” Ian crowed.

Mickey only glared in defeated silence and settled down to eating his chicken yassa.

* * *

 

Ian had barely made it out Mickey’s office door when Jenny Nakamura came barrelling around the corner. She spotted him immediately and made a beeline for him as he panicked.

“Mr. Gallagher, do you have a moment? I still have some queries about some charges on your expense account.”

“Oh shit… Mick?” Ian turned desperately to the love of his life for rescue, but the vindictive bastard was already slowly and deliberately closing the door on him; all the while looking him dead in the eye as he bit into his Snickers bar. Ian was on his own.

It took forever for Ian to extricate himself from Jenny and escape to his office where Annie was already waiting for him. Ian paused at the door. “Did Jenny send you?”

“What?”

“Never mind, what’s up?” Ian said and rounded his desk to drop down into his chair.

Annie waved her sketchbook. “I have to admit, I was getting pretty excited over the potential character designs during storyboarding today. I have a bunch of ideas and I wanted to get a better grasp of the vision you have for the bosses and mini-bosses. Would it be alright to come see you tomorrow afternoon—get some more sketching done?”

“Sure, I think my day’s clear,” Ian nodded. “But is that really how you want to kick off your weekend?”

“Please, this is our first big step into the horror genre and I live for demons and hell beasts. And speaking of hell beasts, my mother-in-law is here and when she’s not on my behind about not giving her a grandchild, she’s on it for not learning to cook ackee and saltfish for her ‘baby’ yet,” Annie said with a roll of her eyes. “I’m desperate to get out of there tomorrow.”

“Well, why haven’t you done any of those things?” Ian teased.

“If Jimmy wants a baby, he’s free to have it, and if he wants to eat home-cooked ackee so badly, he’s free to cook it. I neither have child-bearing hips nor the desire to cook a potentially lethal meal. Did you know ackee can kill you if you don’t do it right? Maybe my love is just too deep to possibly poison Jimmy with exotic cuisine.”

Ian swore he could hear Mickey’s derisive snort all the way from his office. “Well that’s one way of looking at it… I guess.”

“So we’re on tomorrow then?”

“We’re on.”

* * *

 

Ian groaned and stirred from sleep at the sound of the ringing phone. Whoever was calling wasn’t taking the hint, and the phone would stop ringing only to start again a moment later. Ian blinked against the sunlight filtering in and blindly groped around the bed to locate the phone that was apparently lost somewhere in the sheets. He patted around for a bit, landing briefly on Mickey’s bare ass before continuing the search. Despite the persistently ringing phone, Ian’s hand found its way back to Mickey and began patting more ponderously.

“It’s not up there!” Mickey grumped into his pillow and Ian sighed and sat up.

“It’s your phone, asshole,” Ian said as he found the phone near Mickey’s knee. Mickey could not care less and Ian was left to answer the dozing man’s phone for him.

“Ian, this is not your phone,” Carrie pointed out immediately, “where is my man?”

Ian sighed wistfully. “Do you ever remember a time when you were afraid of me?”

“Oh yeah, but that was back in the day when I worked for you and you were firing bitches for looking at you sideways. This is now though and I don’t work for your ass no mo’. Mickey, please?”

Ian placed the phone next to Mickey’s ear and left them to it. He slipped out of bed as Carrie began chirping in Mickey’s ear.

“Fuck off,” Mickey said succinctly.

“Is your ass still asleep?! It’s 9 a.m.! Do you know how much the fine men and women of our armed forces have already accomplished today?” Carrie said and then waited patiently as Mickey muttered a few more invectives as he slowly surfaced. “Well that’s a fine way to talk about the troops.”

“Whaddya want?”

Carrie took a breath. “So, Leslie and I have come to a decision. We’re going to do it—we want to expand the Institute.”

That finished waking Mickey up. “Really? No shit, you guys are doing it? Congratulations… I think? Is that what I should…?”

Carrie laughed at Mickey’s fluster. “Yeah, it’s a weird thing to congratulate, I know. In a perfect world, there wouldn’t be any need for support facilities for domestic abuse survivors, but we’re not in that world. We’re maxed out and overtaxed on every level. We just need more of everything and, yeah, it’s going to be tough to pull it all together, but I think we can do more.”

“I think it’s awesome though,” Mickey told her. “Mandy never stops talking about everything you guys are doing there. To hear her tell it, you’re superheroes. I won’t argue with that.”

“Aw, listen to you being all warm and affectionate after telling me to fuck off three minutes earlier,” Carrie teased. “So what I wanted to ask… how does the ‘Ian Clayton Gallagher Resource Center’ sound?”

“Expensive,” Mickey said dryly, sitting up as he finally caught on to the real agenda.

“I’m sure it’s not going to be as bad as you think,” Carrie continued airily, “besides, don’t act like you don’t like seeing his name and/or face plastered over everything.”

Mickey looked up as Ian re-entered the room, bearing a giant cup of steaming coffee. Ian put the coffee on Mickey’s bedside table, dropped a kiss on Mickey’s forehead and then traipsed out again to start breakfast. “I do like seeing his name on things,” Mickey conceded.

“Right? And publicly supporting a cause like this, especially with Ian’s own childhood struggles—such good PR and karma, and you can tell One Million Moms and their ilk to go fuck—”

“You can stop with the hard sell, Carrie, you’re singing to choir here,” Mickey laughed. “You know we’d want to help. All I’m saying is that we’re a video game company, not the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, so maybe temper expectations?”

“Don’t worry; I’m not expecting you to bankroll the whole thing. Anything you guys can send our way again would be beyond appreciated.”

“Alright, so get me your business plan and we’ll get the ball rolling.”

“Bitch, what? I have to go through all that shit with you?!”

“If you want Southside Enterprise money, you do,” Mickey snorted. “Transparency and all that. Besides, you’ve been through this before. You need to start getting your plans and proposals together for the banks, government and foundations. I’m basically just batting practice.”

Carrie sighed noisily. “Ugh, fine. So, apropos of nothing, do you wanna meet up today and help me revamp my old proposals? This tight-ass I know wants to see it before he coughs up my money.”

When Ian came back into the room, Mickey was tossing his phone onto the bed. “The day is finally here,” Mickey said in a funereal voice, “Carrie is coming for your money.”

“Huh, we always knew this day would come,” Ian clicked his tongue. “You think she’ll leave us enough to at least be in a good North side neighbourhood for when we slink back to Chicago?”

“North side? You better hope the water pressure at the shelter is better than I remember.”

Ian could only laugh.

* * *

 

Annie held up her sketch for Ian’s inspection and he had to admit, it was pretty damn close to being spot on. After all this time, it never ceased to amaze Ian how his team could unlock the images in his head and bring them to vivid life. The overwhelming majority of the time, it was an amazingly positive experience, but every once in a while it gave him pause. He blinked at the hell beast snarling at him from Annie’s sketch pad, a little unsettled. Still, better in Annie’s hands and out in the world than locked, latent, inside his head.

“Right horn’s supposed to be twisted and the tip’s snapped off,” he told her.

“Ah, the scariest thing of all—asymmetry,” she murmured as she made the corrections to her sketch. Once done, she flipped through the drawings she had made so far. She glanced over at Ian. “Darlin’, it is really interesting inside your head,” she said before adding gently, “are you okay with doing all of this and, I don’t know, remembering all this stuff?”

Ian almost laughed, “yeah, no, it’s fine. Believe me, it’s way easier to deal with when you know it’s not real. Besides, it’s been a long time since I tangled with those dudes.”

Annie smiled and examined the drawings again. She turned her tablet to the dog at her feet and raised an eyebrow. “What do you think, Lola?” She laughed as Lola backed up and barked at the image. “Huh, look at that—testing well already. Don’t want to offer an opinion, Tony?” she yelled to the dog waiting by the door.

“He thinks Mick’s coming home any minute now; you’re not going to get him to move from that door. Dogs do not understand weekend schedules.”

“Fair enough,” Annie sighed and sat up. “Okay, I can only stay out for so long before the old bat dings me for avoiding her.”

“Just make the ackee and get her off your back a little.”

“You make the ackee,” Annie shot back. “Later, when she’s cooking up a storm to guilt me about starving her baby, I’ll just be whipping up more of these bad boys. If she thinks she can win a passive aggressive war with a Southern woman, well… bless her heart then, but I am not giving in,” Annie said emphatically as she packed up. “Thanks for being a safe harbour in the storm though. Between brainstorming the game and getting out of the house, I honestly can’t wait for Monday.”

* * *

 

Ian was still sprawled on the couch when Mickey came home. After Mickey got past the welcome wall of dogs, he went to Ian, who immediately reached up, grabbed Mickey and bodily hauled him over the back of the couch and into Ian’s lap. Mickey laughed at the roughhousing.

“Hi,” Mickey said, grinning up at Ian from his place in the man’s lap.

“Hey yourself,” Ian replied. “You are, hands down, the best thing I’ve seen all day.”

“Isn’t that true every day?”

“Yeah, but I’d never tell you that.”

“Annie gone?” Mickey asked and Ian nodded as he stroked Mickey’s thigh suggestively.

“I like where your mind goes, but I was actually going to ask you if you want to come out with me later. There’s an exhibition in the Lower East Side.”

Ian was immediately suspicious as Mickey quickly rolled off his lap and headed towards their bedroom. “Who’s putting on?” His eyes narrowed further as Mickey mumbled an incoherent response. “Who?”

“Jeremy’s curating, alright?”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“Whatever else you think about him, he’s a really good curator.”

“I’m not denying that. He’s got a real eye for potential and talent that can make him money, because god knows nobody’s buying his crap.”

“You’re just mad because he doesn’t think you have any street cred,” Mickey pointed out.

“Oh, like you do?” Ian shot back as he twisted to yell over the back of the couch. “How much Southside cred are you supposed to have left? You can’t coast on your finger tats anymore. You’re a thirty-five year old, bespectacled accountant!”

“Now you’re just trying to be hurtful,” Mickey said with a shake of his head, “I am not an accountant; not everyone with a business degree is an accountant, alright?”

“How did we even get here?” Ian continued undeterred. “I had to drag you kicking and screaming to your first art show…”

Mickey could never deny that. Just like with all the insane recipes, Ian figured Mickey could love some types of art if he just gave it a chance. Initially, Mickey had resisted hard, citing boredom, snobbery and pretentiousness, but had eventually given in to cajoling promises and puppy eyes. It had taken them both aback just how hard Mickey had fallen into it, but Mickey being Mickey, eventually gravitated to the grittier side of the whole thing. As far as Ian was concerned, Mickey had simply swapped out one brand of snobbery and pretentiousness for another, and Jeremy was the worst of it. Born and raised in Chelsea to an affluent, indulgent family, the little shit-weasel had the gall to sniff at Ian’s “bouginess” and preference for more traditional art.

“You get all the passes because he wants to get into your pants,” Ian said before pausing mid-rant. “Wait, is he showing tonight?”

Mickey scratched his nose self-consciously. “He might have mentioned something about showing a couple pieces.”

“Let me guess, will it be some smashed candy bars against a white canvas, which he’ll say is a commentary on modern consumerism? Or will he smack his head into some clay and say it’s all about his inner turmoil?”

Mickey snorted and resumed his journey to the bedroom. “So are you coming with me or would you rather stay here and be an asshole all night?”

Ian got up and took after him. “Don’t see why it’s an either/or situation. I think I can come with you AND be an asshole all night.”

“You know what, forget I asked!” Mickey yelled from the bathroom.

“Nope,” Ian said as he started stripping to join Mickey in the shower, “we’re in this together now. I am seeing this through to the very end.”

* * *

 

Mickey scratched his nose sheepishly as he examined the piece before him. He could feel Ian’s eyes boring into the side of his head and the nauseating smugness just radiating off his partner. Mickey fished for his glasses and cleaned them before slipping them on—hoping to buy a little time and provide a small distraction.

“You’re so cute,” Ian cooed.

“Fuck off,” Mickey grumbled as he adjusted them. Despite the glasses, it was obvious his eyes had not deceived him. Jeremy was a fucking hack moron.

“I’m willing to admit I was wrong,” Ian began and Mickey waited patiently for him to take the piss. “I thought he’d use chocolate but I think the smashed crayons are equally effective. The smearing technique, I feel, is a particularly nice touch.”

“Bite the weenie, Ian.”

“With relish,” Ian said and stepped forward to check the folded price tag on the piece. “He’s out of his mind. I didn’t pay half this much for a high-end rent boy to gargle my balls at that lame Eyes Wide Shut party.”

Mickey blinked. “What the… Did you just have a stroke? What the hell was that sentence?”

Ian looked at him askance. “I told you about all that already.”

“I think I would remember a story with rent boys and ball gargling. What the fuck, Ian?”

“It was back when I was thinking of moving to New York. I told you about this when I was listing out my sins when we were getting back together.”

Mickey paused and thought it over. “Wait; was that before or after the donkey show thing?”

“Oh, slept passed that one too, did you?” Ian said dryly.

“You’ve got to cut me a break on this at some point,” Mickey sighed, “in my defence, it was a lot to take in all at once.”

“It’s uncanny; that’s exactly what the rent boy said to me at the end of the night,” Ian grinned and started to walk off. “Anyway, I’m going to find people who are actually talented and possess some actual vision.”

Mickey looked on agape as Ian drifted off. “Seriously, you’re just going to leave me hanging here?!”

“And that’s what I said to the rent boy!” Ian said gleefully. Mickey could only sigh and follow him.

* * *

 

“Let’s take the service elevator,” Ian whispered conspiratorially and grabbed Mickey’s hand to pull him into the large, slow moving elevator.

“I still can’t believe you get shit-faced on two glasses of wine. You lightweight. Check if Raj is in here first,” Mickey laughed as Ian pressed him against the side wall as the doors slid closed.

“Fuck it, let him watch then,” Ian whispered as he leaned in to press his lips against Mickey’s throat. He pressed closer as Mickey shivered at his touch, and reached down to grope Mickey’s crotch. Mickey sighed blissfully and thrust into Ian’s grasp. He tilted his head to give Ian more access and grabbed Ian’s jacket to tug him closer.

“Ball gargling though?”

Ian exhaled noisily against Mickey’s throat before pulling back a little in exasperation. “Really? You want to waste valuable slow elevator time on this?”

“Come on, you know I have to know this! I mean is this something you’re into? How does someone even gargle balls? Is it just a weird tea bagging thing?”

“Mick, you know everything I’m into,” Ian said patiently. “If I develop a new kink, I promise you’ll be the first to know. It wasn’t a thing, alright? I had just come to New York and I was a dumb, manic, nouveau riche asshole, trying to find the most creative ways to self-medicate and burn through my money. That move was the most expensive thing the guy had on his menu, so I went for it. That’s all. Wasn’t even good,” Ian mused. “We didn’t exactly get along on account of the whole me-being-an-asshole thing I mentioned earlier and him being way too expensive for his demonstrated skill level.”

Mickey grinned and pulled on Ian’s jacket again. “I bet I would have made it worth your while.”

Ian returned the smile and drew closer to Mickey. “Oh, you’d have taken all my money.”

The elevator doors slid open and Mickey pulled Ian towards their door. “Alright, but how do you even end up at an ‘Eyes Wide Shut’ party? Is that even a real thing? How does that happen?!”

“Mickey, I swear to god.”

* * *

 

This time it was Ian’s phone going off and waking him up in the middle of night. He blinked around groggily in the pitch blackness of the room and the glow of the phone caught his eye. Ian quickly snatched the phone off the night table and silenced it before the ringing could wake Mickey. He checked the screen—it was Lip.

“Someone better be dead,” Ian rasped into the phone as he sat up.

“Well, technically he’s only brain-dead; does that count?” Lip answered dryly.

“What?”

“Eugene finally wrapped that stupid moped of his around a tree,” Lip continued. “Wild, huh?”

Ian was momentarily stunned into silence. It was an odd blast from the past. Back in Canaryville, Eugene had been Lip’s friend rather than Ian's, but the older man had always been friendly—perpetually stoned—but friendly. As Ian and Lip shed the Southside and made their escape, Eugene had been one of those mostly left behind, but one of the few who never seemed bitter about it. Whenever Lip made a reappearance back home, Eugene was always ready with some contraband and a million stories to share. In spite of everything, the stoner had managed to remain a friend, and despite his attempts at blitheness, Ian could tell Lip was shaken up.

“Jesus, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Lip replied, but it was weak and unconvincing.

“You want me to come over?”

“Well I mean, if you’re not doing anything…” Never mind that it was two in the morning.

Ian snorted softly. It was as close to an appeal as Lip was likely to make. “I’ll be there soon.”

Mickey hadn’t so much as stirred by the time Ian was ready to leave. The latter crawled into bed and stretched out next to Mickey to gently nudge the slumbering man awake.

“Hey… hey, Legs,” Ian whispered as he rubbed Mickey’s back. Mickey only sighed and instinctively shuffled closer to Ian. “I have to go over to Lip’s for a bit. One of his friends got pretty messed up in an accident and he’s kind of shaken up over it. You get any of that? I’m going over to Lip’s.” Ian raised a brow as Mickey only murmured back softly. He had no confidence any of that had penetrated. He started over and nudged Mickey again. “Okay, what did I just say?”

“Lip’s fucked in the head and you’re gonna go see him,” Mickey mumbled.

“Okay, that’s not exactly—you know what, that’s fine,” Ian relented, wondering if he needed to wake Mickey up more thoroughly, but feeling too guilty to do it. It always took Mick too long to settle back down to sleep again once he got startled awake. “Just please don’t freak out if you wake up and I’m not here okay? I’m at Lip’s.”

Ian hesitated a moment more before kissing the small of Mickey’s bare back and shuffling off the bed.

* * *

 

“To hear them tell it, the tree came out of nowhere,” Lip joked grimly as he handed Ian a beer. “The way Gene lived; it was only a matter of time anyway.”

“So there’s no way he’s waking up from this?”

Lip shook his head as they settled on his balcony. “Ventilator’s only thing keeping him going, but his parents aren’t letting him go yet. They’re praying for a miracle even though Sarah’s losing her mind. She doesn’t think Gene would want anyone to see him like that.”

“She doesn’t get a say? They’ve been together forever—she’s the mother of his kids.”

“They were always on and off again, and when this happened, they were in the off position,” Lip said, “plus, it’s not like Gene ever made an advanced directive in his life. His parents are his next of kin and have power of attorney.”

“Fucked up, I don’t think his parents even liked him that much,” Ian mused as he sipped his beer.

Lip only snorted as he lit up his joint. He inhaled deeply and sighed out the fragrant smoke before offering the joint to his brother. He lowered it when Ian hesitated. “Does the warden say that this is still contraband?” He hadn’t said it to be antagonistic but, like a lot of what Lip says, it came out that way. He could see Ian bristling before his brother reached out and snagged the joint.

They sat in silence for a while, smoking and staring out at the city lights. It was Ian who broke the pensive silence. “It’s fucked up.”

“What, the accident?”

“All of it, everything… just poor Sarah. I know there was always drama with them, but she loved his dumb ass, you know? I mean how do you even recover from that? I miss Mick when he goes to the bathroom. How the fuck would I keep functioning in a world where he just doesn’t exist anymore? You love someone with everything you have and you’re with them for so long that they become a part of you. Every day you wake up and they’re right there next to you and then one day, they aren’t? And they’re never going to be there again? How do you survive that?”

“Millions, if not billions, of people do it every day,” Lip pointed out.

“I know they do,” Ian admitted, “I just don’t know how.”

They fell back into silence again until Ian’s phone shattered the quiet. He fumbled for his phone, his movements lethargic as his limbs refused to cooperate fully. He eventually located it and answered Mickey’s call. Apparently Ian had missed a few of them before this one came through.

“Where the fuck are you?!” Mickey blasted across the line. Ian winced at the fear and panic in Mickey’s voice. It was a tone he’d hoped to never hear again.

The last time he’d heard it had been about a year back and it had been the worst. Ian had figured he’d gotten hold of some bad weed at a friend’s party; Mickey was adamant that it was drug interaction. They were probably never going to come to a consensus. Whatever it had been, it had left Ian taking a sharp turn on his way home and had ended up with him wandering Central Park, barefoot and out of his mind, for hours. He had been out of contact and gone long enough for Mickey to start freaking out, but not long enough to garner the interest of law enforcement.

In the end, Mickey had found him, or rather, Tony had with Mickey in tow. He had barely surfaced enough to feel Mickey’s crushing hug and Tony’s wet nose pressing against his palm. “Hi,” he’d said groggily, which had caused Mickey to burst into tears and earned him a trip to the emergency room. At least they’d been able to make a million Golden Retriever jokes after the shock had worn off. Mickey was clearly in no mood to laugh now.

“I’m at Lip’s!” Ian said hurriedly, the words tripping over themselves to get out and assuage Mickey’s fear. “I told you, I tried to wake you up! I told you,” Ian repeated plaintively.

“You’re at Lip’s?” Mickey quieted as he vaguely recalled a brief, odd, Lip-centric dream.

“I told you. I even wrote you a note!” Said note had been inadvertently slapped off the bed, and now lay unmolested beneath it. Ian could sense Mickey’s uncertainty and he tried to drive his point home. “I told you.”

“Why do you sound so weird?” the fear and panic had now left Mickey’s voice, but Ian had a feeling he also wasn’t going to like what replaced them next. “Are you high?”

It was a rhetorical question. Mickey could always ding it immediately. “I’m with Lip,” Ian responded sullenly, “and it’s just a little weed.”

Mickey’s silence boiled at the other end of the line. Ian ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. It was hard enough to think with Mickey’s anger flustering him further. “Look, I’ll be home in a little bit.”

“How?” Mickey snapped, “you’re gonna drive home while you’re high as a fucking kite? Stay there and sleep it off.”

Ian sighed as the call ended and Lip looked over apologetically. “Sorry I got you in trouble with the warden.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Lip grinned at Ian’s huff. Maybe he did mean to be a little antagonistic after all.

* * *

 

It’s always a little weird going home when you know you’re in trouble. Ian paused at the welcome wall of dogs and let them jump all over him while he scanned for Mickey. He found his partner in the kitchen making a massive bowl of cereal—Mickey’s go-to comfort food whenever he was upset. Soon, unless Ian headed him off at the pass, Mickey would grab the bowl and disappear into the back room with Tony to watch cartoons and regress to infancy until he was ready to talk again.

Ian went into the kitchen sheepishly, Mickey ignoring steadily the entire time. When Ian attempted to greet him by biting softly into Mickey’s shirt, the latter avoided the gesture, grabbed his cereal and did just as Ian knew he would.

Mickey’s cold shoulder persisted for a couple of days, which was long enough to slingshot Ian’s own mood from contrite to pissed off. When Mickey held out a beer to Ian as he sat on the couch, Ian eyed the proffered bottle sceptically.

“Oh, is this okay? Am I allowed to have that?”

Mickey withdrew his offer and headed towards the kitchen to return the beer to the fridge. “Fine, be a dick.”

Ian laughed incredulously and went after him. “I’m being a dick? You get pissed off at me for sharing a joint with my brother and I’m being a dick? Now that you’re talking again, what exactly was the issue here? Was Lip going to roofie me? Or am I just not allowed to do shit any more without your strict supervision?”

“Don’t act like I’m the asshole here,” Mickey shot back, “you’ve had this prescription for about two months now. You don’t know how shit could shake out when you light up. Fuck me for not wanting you to get lost or jumped in fucking Central Park!”

Ian groaned out loud.  “You’re going to harp on that for the rest of my goddamned life,” he said before muttering, “you do this every frigging time my prescription changes. Oh my god, I hate when you do this; I hate it when you get like this.”

“Like what? Get like what, Ian?!”

“You turn into some kind of unholy cross between Florence fucking Nightingale and RoboCop. I have lost count of the amount of times I’ve told you that I do not need you to be my nursemaid. Every time my prescription changes or every time there’s some new, but fucking worthless development in ‘bipolar world’ you lose your fucking shit and go into overdrive!”

“Somebody has to,” Mickey shot back, “I’m not supposed to take this shit seriously?!”

Ian sputtered indignantly, “what, because I don’t?! I’ve been living with this for seventeen years, Mickey! I’ve been living with this for literally half my life. I’ve been at every single point of the mood spectrum, been in and out of mental hospitals, and still managed to pull my shit together long before your ass came on the scene. You don’t think I take this seriously enough? Fuck you! I’m the one living with this; I’m the one that has to go through it and you can’t possibly know what it feels like! This isn’t Ian and Mickey’s grand bipolar adventure when this is only going on in my head. So don’t act like we are both in this together when the most you could ever be is a fucking spectator!”

The silence that followed next was deafening. Ian struggled to get his breathing under control and the blood to stop roaring in his ears. As he regained his equilibrium he put his hands over his face and groaned softly. He kept his eyes closed and further pressed his face into his hands. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know what Mickey’s face looked like right then, and in the suffocating quiet of the moment, he didn’t even have to guess what would happen next.

“Don’t leave,” Ian said softly, but the plea was in vain as Mickey was already heading for the door. “Mick, you can’t walk out every time we—”

The slam of the door cut off the rest of Ian’s words and he was left standing alone in the aftermath.

* * *

 

It felt like the height of paradox to call any war “civil”, but to meet the standard of civility, there had to be rules. There were rules of engagement for any proper battle and with Ian and Mickey’s domestic conflicts, it was no different.

It didn’t matter how bad the fight was, neither of them were allowed to stay away and out of contact all night. They may have stormed off in the heat of it, but they had to return home at some point. They both could struggle a bit with separation anxiety and Ian would be the first to admit that he didn’t handle Mickey’s prolonged radio silences well.

Ian’s eyes drifted to the time signal in the bottom corner of the TV channel. It was after two in the morning and well past the twelve hour mark for Mickey’s departure. Ian fretfully rubbed Lola’s head as the dog lay curled up beside him, and glanced over at the slightly ajar bedroom door. He had been fussing with it for hours. First, he’d left it wide open as an eager and open invitation for Mickey to come in and talk to him. He quickly balked at the pathetic futility of the gesture, knowing Mickey would almost certainly ignore it. Ian had then closed the door instead and decided that was too extreme and self-sabotaging. Suppose Mickey did want to talk or at least stay in the room with him? After fidgeting with the door for what felt like hours, he had uncomfortably settled with it being open, but only just. Mickey would make of that what he would. None of that preparation would matter though if Mickey refused to come home.

Ian picked up his cell phone just before Lola suddenly stood up. Tony’s distant whining further told him of Mickey’s return and when he finally heard the door open and the resultant barking, Ian set his phone back down, awash with relief.

“Shh, shh, hey, big guy,” Mickey soothed Tony as the dog yipped and jumped around him. “I made you worry, huh? I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I should have taken you with me. I wasn’t thinking. Let’s go in.”

Ian sighed heavily as Mickey’s shadow swept past the door with Tony in tow. Predictably, Mickey had retreated to the rear room and, unlike Ian, Mickey had no issue closing the door firmly behind him. Ian stared at the ceiling as the minutes ticked by. He contemplated just leaving Mickey alone until the morning, but found he was physically incapable of it. He left Lola sleeping in bed and slipped out the door to find Mickey.

The door was shut but not locked. Ian slowly stepped inside and found Mickey half-sprawled atop Clay in the middle of the bed. The massive, old bear sat up against the headboard while Mickey used his chest as a pillow. Ian hesitated before gently getting into bed. Clay’s arm and leg formed an impenetrable barrier and Ian sidled as closely as he could in spite of it, half-waiting for the toy to turn its head and glare down at him for the intrusion.

Mickey’s head was turned away from him and Ian wondered if the man had actually fallen asleep. He stared at the back of Mickey’s head and continued the excruciating task of wondering what he should say first when he finally got the chance to say it. He was startled when Mickey stirred and immediately worried that Mickey was about to retreat once again. Instead, Mickey sat up and gingerly lifted Clay off the bed and lowered him to the floor; all the while avoiding looking at Ian while making sure the bear was in arm’s reach. Mickey finally got back into bed and didn’t protest when Ian shuffled a little closer.

“I’m not trying to take over your shit,” Mickey said first, catching Ian by surprise again just as he’d inhaled deeply to say something. “I know I don’t know what it can be like in your head. That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not what I wanted to say,” Ian said quickly and pulled even closer, “I mean that’s not—that’s not what I meant… that’s not the way I meant to say it.”

Mickey still refused to turn over and look at him. “How am I supposed to take that, Ian?”

Ian reached out and tenderly stroked Mickey’s back. “I told you at the beginning, at the very start of this, that you’re the only person I could imagine riding this out with me and still being there when there’s nothing but mess to clean up. It’s just…” Ian paused and tried to arrange his thoughts and choose his words carefully, “it’s like I’ve been fighting a war, you know? And it sucks and it’s the worst thing in the world and I wish I didn’t have to do it, but I have to because it’s my war and I have to go through it. The only thing worse than fighting in it is realizing that you’re dragging the people you love into it too. I need you here with me, Mick, I just wish I didn’t. I don’t want you in this war. I’ve been working so hard for so long to make sure that being bipolar isn’t something that defines me, that it freaks me out when it feels like you’re getting swept up in it and it’s because of me. I don’t want it to define you either.”

Mickey sighed and finally flipped over to face him. “Alright, first of all, can we just agree that you torture the fuck out of your analogies?”

“I mean… I was just trying to drive the point home, I guess—”

“You just pound them into the goddamned dust,” Mickey continued, “and secondly, if we’re really sticking with the whole war theme here, I wasn’t conscripted, I wasn’t drafted. I signed up for it, I knew what I was getting into. And I know you don’t want it to define you or us, and that’s why I just want to stay on top of things—to keep the chaos to a minimum.”

“I know,” Ian replied softly. “I know what you’re trying to do and you’re right ninety-nine percent of the time, but you have to loosen up a little sometimes too,” Ian said. “I know you worry, but Lip is a safe space for me, and Fiona, and my family and at work… I need you to trust that I’ll be okay with them, and I need to know that you trust me too.”

Mickey’s eyes roved over Ian’s face. “I do trust you,” he sighed. “Yeah, I, uh, probably overreacted a little there with Lip. Okay so I definitely overreacted,” he admitted, “it just scared the shit out of me when I woke up and couldn’t find you or get you on the phone. It takes me a while to get out of that. I handle being pissed off a lot better than being scared, so… I shouldn’t have gone off like that.”

Ian smiled with relief and stroked Mickey’s face. “So does this mean you like me again?”

“How can anyone stay mad at that stupid, fucking face?”

* * *

 

A couple mornings later, Ian woke up hard and aching. He and Mickey hadn’t been intimate since before their fight and he immediately drew close to Mickey to press against the other man’s back. Ian revelled in Mickey’s warmth and ground against him as he nipped at Mickey’s shoulder, causing the man to stir awake.

“I want you,” Ian whispered huskily into the crook of Mickey’s neck, and his hand snaked over Mickey’s hips to reach for his cock. Instead of melting into him the way Mickey always did, Ian felt Mickey’s body stiffen in resistance and Ian backed off, surprised and confused.

Mickey quickly sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed before looking back at Ian apologetically. “Sorry, I can’t, I gotta, uh—”

“It’s fine,” Ian said hastily.

“No, I have to go in early for some stuff. I promised Carrie…” Mickey trailed off lamely and averted his eyes with a guilty dip of his head. He got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

Ian sighed and flopped back against his pillows as the curtains pulled back to let sunlight in. Clearly he was deeper in the dog house than he originally thought.

* * *

 

“Hey, Fancy Face,” Fiona greeted him over video call later that morning.

Ian snorted his amusement. “You like that one, huh?”

“Mickey has a million perfect nicknames for you, but that one’s just special,” Fiona said, “you have to admit, your face is pretty fancy.”

“Yours isn’t too shabby either,” Ian grinned back, “where’re the kids?”

“School, thank god. I’m sending your niece to you the second they’re out for summer. Abby has an attitude on her the size of the Sears Tower.”

“Sure, send her to her two gay uncles in New York. That’ll sort out her attitude problem.”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I have another surly teen on my hands. She was such a cute kid.”

“We all were—for about five minutes. If you didn’t see this coming, that’s on you.”

Fiona rolled her eyes again and conceded nothing. “Where’s Mickey?”

“Ah, went in to work early to escape my dick. I’m going in late to give him some breathing room,” Ian admitted.

Fiona quickly put two and two together. “You guys had a fight?”

Ian nodded and slouched in his chair. “Yeah, but we talked it through and we’re mostly okay. Thing is, I was a pretty colossal asshole and he’s just not over it enough yet to let me climb all over him.”

Fiona gave him a sympathetic smile. Ian knew she wanted nothing more than to reach across the screen and rub his head. “I’ve been on both sides of that equation more times than I can count. Just give him a minute.”

“I’ll try; I never quite figured out how to leave him alone,” he said quietly. “You know what I want to find out?” he said suddenly to his sister, “at what point do we stop being assholes—us Gallaghers? Like when does that taper off?”

“You’re kidding, right? If there’s a magic number where the assholery ends, you’re going to have to find it out from someone older than me,” Fiona laughed.

“Shit, so it’s not forty?”

“Definitely not forty, and if Frank is any indication…”

“Shit.”

Fiona’s voice gentled. “Was it really that bad?”

“I say the worst shit sometimes, or I say it in the worse way,” Ian said as he rubbed a tired hand over his face. “I feel like I need to figure this out before I push too far.”

“Look, everyone who knows us even a little bit know that Gallaghers have an overdeveloped fight or flight response and, yes, we can be monumental assholes. Jimmy knows it, Mickey knows it; they’re not exactly shy angels themselves, right?  They know how to roll with it and handle us. Apologise when you fuck up, keep getting better and don’t fret so much when you know you and Mickey are rock-solid.”

“The Grand Canyon was rock-solid too once,” Ian pointed out, “I just don’t want to keep chipping away at him.”

“You worry too much. You and Mickey have the one thing that guarantees you going the distance.”

“What, true love?” Ian said earnestly.

“God, you sound like a fucking Disney prince. No, not true love—fuck that,” Fiona scoffed, making Ian’s eyes widen at the blasphemy, “I mean, yes, fine, that’s all well and good, but love only takes you so far. What I’m talking about is fear.”

Ian burst out laughing. “We aren’t scared of each other, what the hell?”

“Yeah, you are. You scared goddamned shitless of each other. I don’t mean the rotten type of fear that makes you flinch when they move, or makes you hope they never come home. I’m talking about being scared of disappointing them or losing them. It’s the kind of fear that keeps motivating you to be a better person and partner, you know. It’s the kind of fear that has you wringing your hands right now. You and Mickey have that in spades—you’ll be fine.”

“What about those old, grumpy ass couples that no longer give a shit and just cuss each other out all damn day,” Ian said with a grin, weirdly reassured by Fiona’s bizarre thinking. “What’s keeping them together?”

“At that point? Resignation.”

* * *

 

“What do you think?” Ian asked Lola a couple days later after he showed her Annie’s newest sketches on his tablet. “Do you think this one looks too much like the Cyberdemon from _Doom_?”

Lola growled quietly at the sketch before yawing and snuggling closer to Ian’s chest.

“Good to know; your feedback is invaluable,” Ian said to the snoozing dog. Lola was unbothered by the sarcasm and didn’t even budge when Mickey came home and walked over to their couch. “Hey.”

“Hey…What are you doing?” Mickey asked as Ian grinned up at him in welcome.

“Working on lore and looking over some sketches. I could use some second opinions. I love Lola, but she’s a terrible sounding board.”

“That’s why you don’t send a dog to do a man’s job,” Mickey gritted out and earned an eye roll for his efforts. Mickey took Ian’s tablet and evicted a loudly protesting Lola from Ian’s lap so he could replace her there. “Go bark at your mom,” he told the small dog and got comfortable reclining against Ian, who eagerly welcomed him. “Jesus fuck, these things are terrifying.”

“You don’t think that one looks a little like a Cyberdemon?”

“Is this what you saw in your head?”

“Yeah.”

“Then it’s perfect,” Mickey assured him. “There are going to be similarities no matter how you cut it, because it’s hell and its minions—kinda hard to reinvent the wheel on a lot of it.” They chatted more about the game until Mickey lowered the tablet. “What are you making for dinner?”

“I was thinking of making a veggie stir-fry—for myself!” Ian quickly added over Mickey’s groan, “I was going to add some shrimp or chicken in yours, you carnivore. But I could make you something else if you’re not into it,” Ian offered, eager to recoup as many points as quickly as he could.

Mickey sniffed and rubbed his thumb over Ian’s knuckles. “You’re supposed to try and convince me to eat your health nut crap.”

Ian blinked at all the signals and captured Mickey’s hand in his. “How am I supposed to that?”

“You’re the creative one; figure that out,” Mickey replied as he rolled off Ian and got up from the couch. “Gonna take a shower before dinner.”

Ian just needed a little more confirmation. “You gonna shower by yourself?”

“I don’t know; am I?”

That was all the confirmation he needed. Ian left his tablet and demons behind, and went after Mickey.

* * *

 

Lola had never read _The Art of War._ Had it been made available to her, she would have devoured it—perhaps quite literally. Still, the terrier was not ignorant in the ways of battle and the myriads of stratagems she had to employ to escape the battlefield unscathed. She knew her enemies, knew how they operated, and knew how they would respond to her plays. Even now as she sniffed the air, she knew an ill-wind brewed, so she rose from her sunny spot, shook herself, and ambled over to her master who was seated at the dining table, to strategically take as unobtrusive a spot as possible behind his crossed ankles.

Ian snapped out of his reverie when he felt Lola curl up behind his feet. “Oh god, what did you do now?”

“LOLA!” came a bellow from the master bedroom. Ian groaned, Lola sighed and Mickey came barrelling out with some scraps of ruined fabric in his clutches, Tony close at his heels.  Mickey took aim at Ian first. “Are you seeing this?!”

“Uh…”

“Do you know what this is?” Mickey demanded.

“Um, a pair of socks?” Ian ventured hesitantly.

“They used to be a pair of socks, Ian,” Mickey said measuredly, “they aren’t any more. What they are is ruined! _Something_ chewed them to shit!”

“It was me,” Ian confessed and momentarily took Mickey aback. “You weren’t around, so I chewed on your socks instead. They hold your scent quite well.”

Mickey’s lips twitched and he looked away from Ian to center himself. _This fucking idiot_. He took a moment to regain his indignation and tried again. “Do you know how much I paid for this?!”

“One million dollars,” Ian nodded, “I know, I’d be pissed off too.”

“The answer, smart ass, is more than zero,” Mickey continued. “Do you know how long it’s taken me to stop using the five finger discount to get shit? I’m using money now—which I hate to do—and I’m not about to spend my hard earned money on things I need just so your Mexican sewer rat can turn them into dinner!”

“Mexican? Where’d that come from?” Ian asked, nonplussed. “Old girl should be Scottish, right?”

“No, Mexican sewer rat—from the urban legend?” Mickey said, “you know, lady goes to Mexico on vacation, finds a dog that she thinks is kinda cute and takes him home only to find out it’s actually a giant fucking Mexican sewer rat. How have you never heard this?”

“That’s fucked up.”

“I mean, can you imagine?” Mickey said and they both shook their heads at the thought. Mickey stood idly for a moment trying to remember what he came out for and Ian gingerly sipped his coffee, hoping that Mickey wouldn’t remember. It was a vain hope since Mickey had only to look down at his hands still holding the mangled socks. A second later, he was erupting again. Having gotten no satisfaction from Ian, Mickey shocked every sentient creature within earshot by rounding on Tony next. “And you,” Mickey began, “you were there when this was going down. You were the one that showed them to me!”

Lola knew it. Those socks were too well-hidden to have been discovered so quickly. She loved Tony—he was her brother from another mother—but he was what some in her circle would refer to as “a punk-ass snitch.” She had tried to train him since he was a pup, but he steadfastly refused to ditch the goody two-shoes act and walk with her on the wild side.

“You can’t just sit there and watch her wreck my stuff!” Mickey continued, “you need to defend my shit. Evil triumphs when good dogs do nothing, Tony. As far as I’m concerned, you’re as guilty as she is!”

Tony could count on one paw the number of times he’d been scolded by Mickey in his entire life. The censure immediately had him spiralling into a debilitating depression, which in turn had Mickey quickly backpedalling.

“Alright, no, come on,” Mickey said hurriedly to the dog lying miserably on the floor, “I’m not saying you’re a bad dog. I would never say that. You’re a good dog—you’re the best dog. Who’s my good boy?” Mickey asked and sent Tony roaring back to life again while Ian fought back laughter. “Yeah, you’re my good boy… just maybe work on the defence a little bit.”

“Ruthless,” Ian deadpanned, “just cold blooded.”

“Shut up,” Mickey huffed, the wind from his righteous rage having completely left his sails. None of this had gone remotely as it should. He fired one last weak salvo at Ian. “So that’s it? Got nothing to say?”

“I want to get married.”

They were Ian’s words, but they still managed to shock them both. They stared at each other in surprised silence before Mickey blinked awake. “To who?” he asked.

“What do you mean ‘to who’? To you!”

“Oh,” Mickey said dazedly, “but we’re already married…kinda.”

“I know, I know,” Ian said quickly as he got to his feet and came around the table to reach Mickey who was still clutching the former socks for dear life. Ian hadn’t planned on doing it this way. He had been thinking about it for ages, trying to work out the best way and time, only for it to come flying out of his mouth when they were both unprepared. “I know we are, and it’s wonderful and it’s all kinds of perfect, but I just… I want it to be official,” Ian said and wetted his lips nervously as Mickey stared at him.

“I want it on record in the state of New York and the state of Illinois and all the rest of them. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time now and it’s all I’ve been able to think about lately,” he admitted. “And-and there’s practical reasons to do it too! I mean there are estate taxes and power of attorney and next of kin, scooters flying into trees, and fucking Frank still being alive and out there…” Ian realized he was starting to babble.

“We don’t need to get married to sort all that out though,” Mickey told him, “it’s just a piece of paper.”

“Not to me…I know we don’t have to do it this way, but it’s a piece of paper I want,” Ian replied quietly. “I want us to be married, for real. I don’t want there to ever be a question or a doubt as to what we are and what we mean to each other. I know you had the worst experience with this before, but we are different. This is different. I love you no matter what, and I’ll go by whatever you want, but I really, really want to marry you…for real.”

Mickey’s eyes searched Ian’s face. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you? You really want to do this?” He watched as Ian nodded wordlessly and kept still as the silence stretched for a moment more. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Ian asked in disbelief and Mickey gave him a soft smile.

“Yeah, let’s get hitched.”

Ian’s face exploded into a grin. He swooped Mickey up into a bear hug, knocking almost all the air out of the latter, before pulling him into a kiss that stole the rest of his breath. Ian then pulled back abruptly, leaving Mickey reeling a little. “And I swear, I don’t need this to a big deal or anything. We can just get the license and then head down to city hall on our lunch break or whatever. We can pay some random close by to be our witness. In and out, you won’t even know it happened.”

“That’s what she said,” Mickey couldn’t resist and grinned as Ian rolled his eyes before enveloping him into another crushing hug. “Do I get engagement socks to replace these then?” Mickey asked, his voice muffled by Ian’s shirt.

“Jesus Christ, I will buy you all the socks!”

Mickey was being slowly smothered by Ian’s embrace. “You’re sure this isn’t that big a deal? Because this feels like a big deal reaction.”

Ian released Mickey quickly and shook his head. “Nope! Just a formality—we sign, we’re done, and everything is right back to normal.” Ian gave Mickey a manly punch on the shoulder and tried to affect nonchalance even though he was clearly so excited he was practically bouncing in place.

After all this time, it was impossible to deny Ian anything. Mickey just shook his head and sucked on his lower lip as he regarded Ian. “I mean, it’s a little bit of a big deal, right? I guess we can take a minute to—” Mickey didn’t even get to finish his thought before he was tackled to the floor by his exultant partner.

Lola emerged from under the chair and looked on the celebration with approval and appreciation. That was by far the best diversionary tactic she had ever seen.

 

**TBC**


	2. All The World's A Stage

_Daughter of Delta-Nu_  
_Soon to be fiancée_  
_Now that a man chose you_  
_Your life begins today_  
_Make him a happy home_  
_Waste not his hard earned wage_  
_And so he does not roam_  
_Strive not to look your age_  
_Still in your hour of need_  
_Let it be understood_  
_No man could supersede,_  
_Our sacred bond of sisterhood!_  
_Oh my god—_

 

“—oh my god, you gu—”

“Will you knock it off?”  Mickey said, cutting Carrie off before she could reach her musical crescendo. That had been her third wedding themed song since they met up for coffee. Knowing her, she was probably packing a dozen more.

“Not in a _Legally Blonde_ mood? How about I sing ‘Going to the chapel’ instead?” she suggested.

“Carrie,” Mickey sighed as they got off the elevator to the food court.

Carrie only laughed at him as she found a table and took a seat. “I don’t know what you’re so stressed about. It’s literally five minutes of paperwork then it’s as you were,” she pointed out. “You guys have been married for a decade. What’s a little ink in the grand scheme of things?”

Mickey rubbed the bridge of his nose, shrugged and shook his head. “Suppose we’re one of those couples that have been together and okay for years, then the minute they get married—boom—shit falls apart?”

“Babe, I was as traumatized by the Brangelina breakup as the next girl, but there’s no such thing as a couple that was okay up until they got married. When you see something like that, it just meant they were having issues for ages and they tried to put a Band-Aid on it by getting married. It’s even worse when they think having a kid would make things better. You’re lucky you were able to get away with the whole ‘ghetto marriage’ mess for as long as you did. Just shows how devoted Ian is to your brand of bullshit.”

Mickey snorted softly, “is that how it is?”

“Please, you knew you were going to have to make this official sooner or later. Ian hasn’t been ghetto in years. He’s fancy as fuck now and fancy people always need to make it official. I know, I grew up fancy.”

“I guess that’s true, Mickey admitted. “It’s just… I’ve done this before,” he said quietly, “didn’t go so good the last time.”

Carrie’s eyes widened in surprise before she visibly softened. “Mick, you can’t possibly think this even close to being the same. You’re a grown man now, entering willingly into a marriage with someone you love and trust and truly know. Back then, you were an eighteen year old kid getting forced into a shotgun marriage by his rapist abuser. I mean, I’d say it’s apples and oranges, but these aren’t even on the same freaking planet.”

Mickey winced at the comparison. “What’d I say about saying shit like that?” Mickey grumbled. “You make it sound so—it wasn’t…”

“Abuse?” Carrie finished for him, “I call it as I see it and I see this shit every day, remember?” Carrie sighed, leaned back in her chair and regarded Mickey seriously. “You know, it’s a little crazy that you can support the work we do without really understanding it, Mick. I keep hoping you’d stop by and make use of our resources. Mandy has benefited so much from this and now she’s this awesome counsellor… I know how much she would love it if you came and just sat in on a group one day.”

Mickey shifted uncomfortably, “look, what you guys do is great, but you’re overtaxed as it is so I’ll leave it for people who really need it.” Mickey shook his head as Carrie quirked an eyebrow at him. “I think I’ve done okay, so far, so good. I’m not smacking Ian around or doing any of the shit our dads did. I think I’m fine.”

“Babe, you’re amazing, and yeah, you’ve managed to come out of a terribly abusive situation light years better than a lot of people do. Managing to break the cycle of abuse is so incredibly important, but doesn’t mean you’re unaffected though. It’s amazing the myriad of ways you can still be fucked up.”

Mickey looked sceptical. “Like how?”

“Some people develop PTSD—nightmares and flashbacks,” Carrie began, “some can struggle with chemical dependence. I know quite a few high functioning alcoholics.”

Mickey squirmed again, “I don’t hit the sauce nearly as much as I used to…”

“A few people can develop strange, insanely strong—admittedly adorable—attachments to giant stuffed animals.”

“Don’t drag Clay into this,” Mickey grumbled to the table.

“Some might struggle with issues of control and go a little overboard trying to manage the impossible…”

Mickey’s eyes snapped to hers. “Yeah, so is that the story now? I’m a control freak that’s trying micromanage Ian and his life?”

“That argument really bothered you, didn’t it?” Carrie asked softly, “but no, I don’t think you’re trying to control Ian, Mick; no one thinks that. I do think you’re trying to control everything else though, which is just unworkable. On the best day, life is wild and unpredictable, and that’s before you even factor in the unfinished roller coaster that living with a mental illness can be…”

“I’m not about to fix something that ain’t broken,” Mickey said abruptly and crossed his arms—a clear signal that this vein of conversation was over. “Are we going to eat something or what?”

Carrie sighed and backed down; this was an argument for another day. “I’ll go get it. You want dessert too?”

“I want their brownies.”

“How many?”

“All of them.”

“You want to know some things stress eating is indicative of?” Carrie zipped her lips and skipped off after Mickey shot her a glare. She strode over to their favourite café kiosk and waved to the young, blue-haired barista who was staring off into space. “Hey, sweetie… what’s new in the neighbourhood?”

Gabby smiled at the familiar, friendly face. Carrie might not work in the building anymore, but she was still a frequent customer. “It’s going a lot better. I’ve pretty much made peace with my function as an NPC.”

Carrie’s face scrunched in confusion. “An NPC? As in a ‘non-playable character’? Or is this some new, young people shit I’m not hip to yet?”

“Non-playable character, yep. For ages I was bummed out over how mundane and pointless my life has been forever. No matter what I did, or how hard I tried to change, nothing significant or even really interesting ever happened to me. I’d just be here, standing behind a cash register, at the intersection of a million more enthralling stories and fascinating people. It wasn’t until I was playing the new Zelda the other day that it hit me—I’m an NPC! It’s weird, but it actually put things in perspective and made me feel a lot better.”

Carrie’s eye twitched as she stared at Gabby. “Babe, I’m not trying to change your serenity or what have you, but I’m so sure you’re not an NPC. You’re a star, but you just don’t know it yet.”

“We can’t all be major characters; I see that now. I only wonder if I even exist sometimes, or do I just blink into being for a moment when the intrepid hero needs their caffeine fix and a plot point? Either way, it’s fine—I’ll be that blue-haired barista that sends them on their way.”

“Okay, I am in no way, shape or form equipped to deal with this particular type of dysfunction, but for what it’s worth, I wrote and read a shit-ton of hot coffee house stories back in the day. The attractive, understanding barista who always gets your order right and knows what you need? That is a trope for a reason! That could be you!”

Gabby shook her head, “No, I know those stories. I’m not that barista—Brad is that barista,” she said and nodded to one of her co-workers—a tall, tanned surfer type with beach-blond hair and a winning smile.

“Goddamn,” Carrie’s jaw slackened, “I didn’t think it was possible for someone’s teeth to gleam like that. How have I never noticed this dude before?!”

“Because you’re a flaming tunnel-visioned lesbian?” Gabby offered.

“Oh right, yeah,” Carrie murmured before digging in her purse for a card. “Look, like I said, this isn’t my particular wheelhouse and if you’re really cool with this, then fine. But if you’re ever starting to feel bummed out again, or these thoughts start messing with you, I know a ton of people you can talk to if you ever feel up to it. I could be completely wrong, but I just feel everyone deserves to be the main character in their own story.”

Gabby nodded and pocketed the card, and the two grinned at each other before the moment was disrupted by a grumpy yell.

“Brownie!” Mickey hollered from his table.

“What did you call me, cracker?!” Carrie yelled back, resulting in a full-bodied eye roll from Mickey and horrified gaping from Gabby. Carrie turned her attention back to the young woman. “Oh, we kid…we have fun here in post-racial America. Now give me all your brownies.”

“Wait, are you robbing me?” Gabby joked and Carrie’s eyes narrowed coolly.

“That is not a cool joke to make in post-racial America.”

“Oh god, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—I just…!”

“Girl, I’m just messing with you. Give me the brownies and some food before he comes for both our asses.”

* * *

 

Carrie plopped down the food-laden tray and resumed her seat across from Mickey. “Did you know blue-haired barista thinks she’s an NPC?”

Mickey looked over at the young woman as he took a bite of his sandwich. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

“You’re such a bitch,” Carrie laughed, “everyone’s a main character; everyone’s major.”

“Yeah? What’s majorette’s name then?” Mickey asked pointedly and Carrie scrambled to remember.

“Okay, so just because I don’t know her story doesn’t mean she doesn’t have one,” Carrie said and stuck her tongue out at an unmoved Mick. “What even makes a major character anyway?”

“It’s like what President West said, you need to lead a dope life and do dope shit.”

“Oh, Kanye… such a wordsmith, such disastrous fiscal policies. We really lost our damn minds for a few years there, politics-wise,” Carrie mused. “So wait, are we major characters?”

“You are, at least,” Mickey said fondly, “you’re out there rescuing people in distress and giving people shelter. I, as my fiancé likes to point out, am a bespectacled accountant, so maybe I’m in the same boat as blue over there.”

Carrie snorted derisively. “Yeah, I’m so sure. Even if you ignored the Lifetime movie your life has been up until now, you’re getting married! That’s primo major character shit right there.”

“Who’d want to watch two assholes getting married?”

“Um, every lonely motherfucker from the age of zero to a hundred? Not to mention the romantics. Boy, don’t act like you’re brand new. Have you not seen any of the gazillion love stories Hollywood barfs up on a daily basis?”

“Nope, boring as fuck. I’m not going to spend two hours of my life watching two morons break up to make up, unless it’s really good porn. I need something more in my entertainment, like explosions, or car chases, or the sudden and unexpected return of a long forgotten nemesis.”

“Well, well, well, well, well…well,” Nate trailed off uncertainly as he loomed next to their table, “you know what, that was too many ‘wells’. Permit me start over.”

“Nathaniel!” Carrie gasped, “As I live and breathe. I thought you died in the nightmare at Altamont. Not the Hell’s Angels thing,” Carrie helpfully explained to Mickey, “there was a tragic and ironic stampede at a Brony convention there a couple years back.”

“Yeah, I already figured it was something stupid,” Mickey replied. “Nate, I also thought you were dead; except, you know, from diabetes.”

“Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated!”

“Not so much rumours as it was wishful thinking, but okay,” Mickey said under his breath.

“There is no way I would leave this mortal coil until I had achieved karmic justice—”

“The fuck outta here, seriously?!” Mickey said incredulously. There was no way, ten years later, this simple motherfucker was still on about getting swirlied.

Carrie quickly added her two cents as Nate purpled from the sustained interruption. “I mean you kind of have to leave ‘this mortal coil’ to get your justice anyway, wouldn’t you? I mean your gripe is with god, right? About the way you turned out? Are you still living in your mom’s basement?”

“I shall have my justice!” Nate bellowed to continue his speech. “It is why I have appeared on this day, to confront the villain who grievously wounded me and mine so long ago.”

There was a moment of loaded silence as the three regarded each other silently. “The fuck outta here,” Mickey repeated.

“So wait, does that mean the Hound is off the hook?” Carrie inquired, “did you check the Mountain’s alibi before you came up in here ready to pop off?”

Nate had the good grace to redden in embarrassment. He closed his eyes as the memories washed over him. “I admit that for too long I was stiff-necked and unrelenting in my erroneous beliefs. It took too long for me to see truth and to gather the clues I needed to point me to the true culprit. Still, it is better to arrive to the truth late than never at all and I have—goddammit, where has he gone?!”

Carrie looked up from her phone to Nate and then to the empty seat across from her. “Dude, you were monologuing pretty hard there and he’s had about five cups of coffee. He just had to go to the bathroom.”

“He shall return? He hasn’t absconded?!”

“Do you not see my fine ass still sitting here? I don’t get left behind. He’ll be back.”

Nate rocked awkwardly on his heels as Carrie returned her full attention to her phone. The dramatic confrontation he had been dreaming of for years was dissipating pathetically before his eyes. With Mickey taking his sweet time to return to the table and Nate desperate to regain some kind of momentum, the latter honed in on Carrie.

“You know, I know he wasn’t alone,” he began. Carrie only yawned. Nate cleared his throat and tried again with a little more force and volume. “I know there was an accomplice! Sidekick or no, the fiend shall not escape my justice!”

“I can’t help but feel this rather pointed speech is directed at me,” Carrie replied. “You got any evidence to back that up or are you assuming that I’m automatically a criminal element because I hang with Mickey and I’m also black in America?”

Nate gasped, affronted. “Perhaps the former, but certainly not the latter! I would never suggest such a thing in our post-racial society!”

“Good, because I don’t like stereotypes, but I’ll pull the angry woman trope real fast and knock someone into last night if they go around slandering my good name. I went to Sarah Lawrence, boy, we don’t play. Now say something else!” Carrie demanded, leaving Nate gobsmacked and wisely mute. None of this was going anyway it was supposed to. Carrie turned back to her phone. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

“What’d I miss?” Mickey asked as he reappeared in his seat. “Something, something justice; something, something wasted life?”

“Look, I know it was you,” Nate gritted out, feeling his nerves start to fray and his being coarsen. This is what happened when one mixed with plebs for too long. “I took a step back and analyzed everything and came to some better conclusions. An act so senseless and egregious could ultimately only have been committed by one of Ian’s rabid, ascended fanboys on some foolish White Knight quest; no doubt seduced by Ian’s so-called genius and fuelled by his sexual favours—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mickey cut in suddenly, “Ian’s gay?!” he asked, stupefied while Nate pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “I mean not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Mickey was quick to add, “it’s just…it casts all those naked, hot yoga sessions we had in a bit of a lurid light, you know?”

“Looking back,” Nate continued doggedly, “you were always the most vocal and aggressive of Ian’s little sycophants. You were even a threatening menace online.”

“‘Threatening’? How was I ever threatening?!”

“Babe, you’d always keep going into the forums to tell anyone who was bashing Ian and the games that they needed to turn on their location,” Carrie reminded him gently.

“So I could engage in frank, meaningful, face-to-face dialogue with them about how wrong they were,” Mickey said rather unconvincingly, “Ian really opened my eyes to the importance of discussion and non-violent physical interaction during our penis monologue sessions…which I guess you’re now going to tell me is not a real thing bros do… Godammit,” Mickey muttered under his breath as Carrie bit back a smile and shook her head. “Whatever, I haven’t paid rent in ten years.”

“I know it’s you,” Nate gritted out as he rubbed at his eyes in growing rage and frustration. “You went from being a tester monkey to CFO—a meteoric rise that would be laughable if the nepotism weren’t so despicable.”

“Hey, are you implying that I didn’t earn my post?” Mickey said and stabbed a finger at Nate. “I’ll have you know I sucked a lot of dick to get to where I am today, specifically Ian’s—okay, I’m starting to see the gay thing a little bit now.” Mickey looked up as Nate made a strangled noise. The man looked as if he was about to pop a blood vessel and Mickey relented. “Alright, alright, yes okay? I did it. I invaded your homeland and liberated the fuck out of your pony bitch. Good now; closure achieved?”

“You’re admitting it?” Nate asked incredulously. “All your crimes against me… you confess to them just like that?”

“I mean, yeah, why not? You clearly are embarrassingly hung up on this and need to move on, and the statute of limitations ran out on the most serious shit like eight years ago. So, yeah!”

Nate stared at Mickey and Carrie blankly. “Statute of limitations?”

“Oh honey, no,” Carrie tutted, “tell me that while you were going all Homeland conspiracy in your mom’s basement that you thought to look up statute limitations.”

Nate was stunned at the implications. “But-but I was violated. How can there be a statute of limitations on that? What about my justice?”

“You know what?” Carrie started grumbling as she gathered her things, making Nate immediately nervous. “I can’t right now; I’m gone,” she said to Mickey and marched off before she really became a criminal element.

Nate sank into her abandoned seat and stared morosely into the distance before rallying suddenly. “I’ll sue!” Nate thundered, “if the criminal courts can offer no succour, then the civil courts will!”

“Knock yourself out,” Mickey offered charitably. “But if you thought I was a pain in the ass when I was a lowly tester, keep in mind that I’ve got money now, bitch; I will destroy you. I’ll be sure to let Lip know you’re back on the scene too. I bet he can’t wait to see you again.” Mickey smiled sympathetically when Nate paled at the sound of Lip’s name. “Yeah, I know the feeling, but you know, think it over and do what you gotta do. We look forward to hearing from you,” Mickey said lightly, grabbed the last remaining brownie and his coat and bid Nate a breezy farewell.

Nate had no idea how long he sat immobile before finding the strength to lurch to the café so he could get a stiff iced coffee. “All my planning,” Nate lamented to Gabby as she prepared his order. “All this time and he’s just going to get away with it? Get off scot-free? How?!”

“You know what’s kind of funny? I’ve heard people say that Mr. Milkovich has this giant stuffed teddy bear that he’s super attached to. Could you imagine how upset he’d be if someone messed with it the way you say he messed with yours?” Gabby said and shook her head.

“That’s—that is brilliant,” Nate breathed. “That’s it, my divine pathway to poetic justice. It’s perfect.”

Gabby scrunched her face and shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t know. I get the feeling that Mr. Milkovich and his circle are going through more of a personal development/celebration type story right now and I’m not sure if there’s any time or space for a vengeance driven, hijinks subplot.”

Nate stared at the barista as if she was sprouting a second head. “What are you prattling on about you blue-haired, babbling buffoon? This is real life, not some Gallagher-centric video game! I don’t give a bell’s end what direction their lives are taking right now! I shall have my revenge! I will not be cast aside! I will not be ign—”

* * *

 

Meanwhile, across town, Ian was making his way to his brother’s floor to pay him a visit. He found Casper at his post outside Lip’s door and smiled sunnily at his brother’s secretary.

“Well if it isn’t Della Street,” Ian teased as he approached Casper’s desk.

“If it isn’t Mr. Gallagher the Lesser,” Casper shot back, clearly working on that one since the last time Ian had seen him.

“Ouch, cutting and personal, Casper; well done! Is Lip in?” Ian asked superfluously since he wasn’t going to wait for an answer and was already marching into Lip’s office anyway.

Lip hung up his phone as Ian dropped into the plush chair across from him. Ian nodded back at the closed door. “Seriously, are you going to keep him as a secretary for the rest of your life? It’s getting a little sad.”

“What am I supposed to do? I tried to get him to take other positions—” Lip ignored Ian’s perverted snort, “—he’s not budging. I told you a couple years back that I tried to send him up to medical-legal and hired a new girl. All he did was hang around staring at her as if he wanted to eat her liver with Fava beans and a nice Chianti.”

“Sounds like something I’d do,” Ian mused.

“Yeah, because you’re both fucking unhinged,” Lip pointed out, “whatever, he does a good job and this keeps the body count low.”

“Well it’s been forever, but I’m still rooting for you crazy kids,” Ian said, ignoring Lip’s eye roll. “Anyway, speaking of love and psychosis, I’ve officially popped the question.”

“Mazel tov, to whom?”

“What do you mean to—Mickey! I proposed to Mickey. We’re ditching the ghetto marriage thing and doing it right.”

Lip looked at his brother askance. “You’ve got a serious cow buying problem.”

“It’s been over a decade,” Ian pointed out. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop viewing my relationship through the lens of dairy farming.”       

“Is this because of the Gene thing? You get freaked out?”

“I’ve been wanting to do this for years; you know this. I just didn’t want to freak Mickey out.”

“So he’s not freaked out?” Lip asked pointedly and Ian shifted uncertainly.

“He said yes.”

Lip decided to leave it at that for now. “So I’m the best man or something?”

“Sure, except we’re doing it City Hall style. I need to keep this as low key as possible. I’ll probably end up giving some homeless guy a hundred bucks to witness for us.”

“This all sounds very promising,” Lip said drily. “So bachelor party? Am I supposed to get a twink to bust out of a giant Twinkie?”

“I know you’re just trying to make this as offensive as possible, but that actually sounds kind of amazing. So yeah, get on that. Extra points if there’s actually cream filling of some sort involved.”

Lip snorted and picked up his phone. “Casper, can you find out if there’re any bakeries nearby that do naughty cream puffs?” Lip grinned as Ian exhaled noisily. “By the way, do you want to show me how to throw a gay rager?”

“Do I?!” Casper squealed gleefully across the line.

“It’s just so easy to make him happy,” Lip told his brother as he ended the call.

“I’ve already changed my mind about everything,” Ian sighed. “Stay away from me and my nuptials.”

Lip was unbothered as he reached for his cigarettes. “Had a feeling you’d say that. I’ll try not to take it too personally.”

* * *

 

Mickey distractedly patted his pockets for his own pack of cigarettes until he remembered that it had been a couple of years since the last time he’d smoked. At Ian’s behest, he’d painfully given up smoking, drastically lessened his alcohol intake and had to sneak extra pieces of bacon as if he was committing a Vegas heist. Until Ian, Mickey hadn’t even known his salt intake was something to worry about. Still, Ian would have to pry Mickey’s candy from his cold, dead hands, and knowing Ian, he probably would.  Mickey popped in a piece of gum to assuage his sudden craving and snapped out of his thoughts as Carol sat down across from him at the usual spot in the park.

“I want a smoke,” he whined to Carol as she settled down.

“You no longer smoke,” she reminded him.

“And you don’t set fires anymore; doesn’t mean we don’t have our cravings.”

“Touché,” Carol laughed, “you seem to be in a strange mood this afternoon. What gives?”

“Getting hitched,” Mickey told her. “Ian proposed.”

“I thought you two were already married.”

“Ghetto married—he wants to do it for realsies now.”

“Ah,” Carol nodded, “of course. I’m honestly surprised he managed to wait this long.” She eyed Mickey and added carefully, “I’ve heard you sound more enthused before.”

Mickey gnawed his lower lip and looked anxiously at the older woman. “I mean it’s weird, right?” he began suddenly. “It’s not like it’s a big deal. We’ll just sign a stupid piece of paper and we’re right back to normal; nothing changes. It’s not like we’re Brangelina or anything.”

“I don’t know what that is, child. Is that some kind of Italian dessert?”

Mickey ignored her nonsense. “Sure, I’m not into the whole official thing like he is and, yeah, I had a pretty bad go of it the first time around, but this is us now and you’re not going to find anyone as committed to this as I am. So if he really wants this, then this shouldn’t be a big deal to me then, right? Not a big deal…”

“Except maybe it is?” Carol hazarded. Honestly, who needs the theatre when one is close to these two?

“Is it though?” Mickey demanded, “because I feel like I’m freaking out a little, and I really shouldn’t be freaking out. There’s nothing at all to be freaking out about. This is the rightest, most perfect, most certain thing in my life so there is absolutely no reason to freak out about upsetting the apple cart, is there?!”

“Mick, are you freaking out right now?” Carol asked mildly.

“YES I AM, CAROL!”

Carol couldn’t help but laugh. “Lord, just breathe and have a cookie,” she said as Mickey quieted down. “Boy, what is your malfunction right now? What’s the worry here?”

Mickey sighed heavily. “Why does he… why does he always have to take things just a step further? Everything’s perfect right now, so why can’t we just…be?” Mickey sighed again and shook his head, “but I’m nuts because it’s just a gesture and a stupid piece of paper, so why am I losing my shit like this?”

“Well it’s just compounding the crime now, isn’t it?” Carol replied and Mickey blinked at her. “I mean it’s one thing living the common law life below the radar, but an official marriage? The air of legality just seems to shine a harsh light on the whole farce, doesn’t it? You know deep down this isn’t real, don’t you? It feels perfect and fragile because it’s all an illusion, a façade—a hard jolt from reality and the whole thing collapses,” Carol explained as Mickey stared. “White trash escapes his pathetic Southside origins to find his prince in the tall towers of Manhattan? That’s not anyone’s real story, Mickey; it’s Cinderella’s. The truth is that you’re a fugitive living a stolen life and now Ian wants to bring the law and reality into it. You and I both know that’s when things fall apart.”

The silence that ensued was deafening and oppressive. Carol clicked her tongue.

“Huh, well I give you full marks for listening politely throughout all of that, but this is the point where you defend yourself stoutly and tell me that it was all a complete load and I’d even forgive a colourful invective or two. No?” Carol offered and took in Mickey’s ashen face. “You know my knee-jerk reaction is, of course, to ask how after all this time, you could still be at this point, but that would be hypocritical of me, I guess. Still though, after all this time? How have you been holding your breath for so long?”

“I don’t think about it most of the time,” Mickey admitted quietly, “just every once in a while it hits you, you know? I didn’t even know how to put the feeling into words until you just did.”

“Well, I’ve had a longer time to arrange my thoughts on feelings of inadequacy and feeling undeserving.”

“I do have shit I shouldn’t have,” Mickey continued, “I wouldn’t be CFO if this wasn’t Ian’s company.”

“Sure, that’s probably true. But Ian didn’t give you the job until you had your qualifications and sound knowledge of the company. There’s no way you would have been installed if there was any indication that your appointment would be detrimental,” Carol reassured him. “This is how the world works though. It’s as much about who you know as what you know—sometimes even more so.”

Mickey fell silent again and Carol tapped the park table thoughtfully. “You remember when I told you about my Damascus Road moment? How I thought my conversion had completely fixed everything that was wrong inside me until I wound up setting my bed on fire with my ex in it?”

“You still haven’t told me if you killed that guy or not.”

“Still irrelevant,” Carol brushed it off, “but I bring it up to say this, you shouldn’t still be at this point, Mickey. You’ve done so much, you’ve come through so much and you’re deserving of the good things that happen to you, but until you start addressing and changing those damaging narratives in your head, you’re not going to fully enjoy your life, you’re going to keep worrying and second-guessing everything.”

“I’m doing what I can,” Mickey said defensively, “I talk; I open up. I talk to Ian and Mandy, and you and Carrie. Sometimes I feel like I never get to shut up anymore!”

“And that’s all well and good, but maybe that’s not enough. Sure, I am as wise as I am bodacious—”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“—and you have a stellar support system, but in that same vein, so does Ian, but I don’t see him coming to you to diagnose and treat his mental health issues.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“That we mere mortals are all happy to support you in everything that you do, but sometimes you need to reach out to a higher power, or you know, someone with some legitimate counselling experience; tomato/tomahto.”

* * *

 

“There he is,” Ian greeted Mickey as the latter stepped over the dogs to join him in the kitchen. Mickey slumped against Ian’s back and rubbed his face in the soft material of Ian’s sweater. “Long day?”

“Mmhmm…oh, guess who dropped in to say hi today,” Mickey said, “Nate.”

Ian tensed, “what the hell? He’s not dead? What the fuck does he want?”

“Back for his epic vengeance or some shit. He finally figured it out,” Mickey laughed and stole a piece of chicken. “So of course, you know this means that I’ll have to fake my death and make a quick escape. You want to meet me in Mexico or should I pick you up before I cross the border?”

“I burn easily, so not a fan of Mexico.”

“Then we go north beyond the Wall,” Mickey continued to tease.

“Not a fan of you dying either,” Ian said.

“It would be fake though!”

“Even if it’s fake,” Ian said firmly, “look do you think he’s going to be a problem?”

Mickey only laughed, “easy killer, it’s fine. He’s still an idiot.”

Ian could feel Mickey watching him intently as they got ready for bed. Ian raised an eyebrow at him as he climbed into bed and settled down next to Mickey. “What’s your deal?”

“Lemme ask you something…”

“Hmm?”

“How was it for you when the games and the company were really starting to take off?” Mickey asked as he stretched out crossway the bed and rested his head on Ian’s chest. “It had to have been surreal.”

“Oh god, that’s an understatement, it was fucking insane,” Ian snorted and raked his fingers through Mickey’s hair. “Honestly? I didn’t handle it so well.”

“Yeah,” Ian said softly, “it’s kind of embarrassing to admit, but Lip was pretty much on his own, making shit happen in the early days. Like Mandy said that one time, I crazied myself into one good idea and it was just ridiculous that it took off the way it did. I didn’t trust any of it. I just ran around a lot for the most part, ignored my meds, spent my new income like it was Monopoly money…got my balls gargled.”

“Shit,” Mickey laughed.

“Yeah… it was wild and kinda fun for a minute, then it got really scary,” Ian said quietly. “I crashed out pretty hard. When I surfaced, it was all still there and Lip was on my ass because he was starting to drown a little bit because now it was real and there were people to pay and decisions to make… I had to get my shit together.”

“That’s where Dr. Lester came in?”

“Yeah, we had to scramble a whole team. Me and Lip, we weren’t used to reaching out, but we were getting in over our heads on so many levels.”

“Seems to have worked out for you though.”

Ian grinned down at him and tugged playfully at Mickey’s hair. “I think we’re doing okay.”

“Yeah, we are,” Mickey returned softly and kissed the back of Ian’s hand before the latter turned out the lights and pulled Mickey even closer in the dark. After all this time, it still always felt a little surreal. It always felt just like perfection. Mickey knew he’d do anything to keep it that way.

Now if only he could get his shit together before he crashed out completely.

 

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse at the beginning of the chapter is from "Omigod, You Guys" from Legally Blonde The Musical.


	3. Hair Today

There could be something magical about watching your love sleep. That is unless you’ve been it for close to an hour, waiting for said love to wake up, get his act together and perform his husbandly duties. Mickey propped himself up on one elbow and watched with arched brows as Ian continued to sleep the sleep of the innocent. It had been raining since well before dawn and when their curtains parted, only grey gloom filtered into their bedroom. Without sunlight to act as his natural alarm, Ian simply went on sleeping.

Mickey perked up slightly when Ian gasped and sighed, but deflated again when Ian’s breathing evened out once more. Clearly Mickey was going to have to take matters into his own hands—literally. He turned to his night table, squirted some lube onto his palm and quickly warmed it. He then simply shoved his hand into Ian’s pyjamas and got to work.

Once upon a time, the mere suggestion of a lascivious touch over his cock would have had Ian roaring awake. Still, it was a trick Mickey employed often, so now living a life filled with an embarrassment of riches, Ian just kept on sleeping as Mickey was left working diligently. Finally, the man snorted awake.

“Um, hi?” Ian asked groggily as he slowly shook off sleep. He watched Mickey labour away for a while, appreciating the familiar skill with which Mickey stirred him to full hardness. “Can I help you?”

Mickey gave him a sidelong glance. “You awake now?”

“Who could sleep through this?”

“I was starting to wonder,” Mickey replied drily. He then stunned Ian by giving the hardened cock a light slap before flipping over onto his stomach. “Get on me.”

“Really?” Ian blinked, “no hello, how do you do, get on me? Not even a kiss good morning? You’re just going to slap my dick and order me to work? Who says romance is dead?”

“Oh my god, you delicate flower,” Mickey sighed, “I will make out with you and let you feel me all kinds of up only after we do this and you brush your teeth. No offense, but your morning breath is singeing my eyebrows off and I’m not about to leave this building looking like a chola.”

Ian didn’t respond immediately. Instead he did a surreptitious breath check while Mickey’s back was to him. Ye gods, okay, it was kind of bad, but that was no excuse for rudeness. “Love means accepting me and my heinous breath,” Ian grumbled petulantly.

“Who the fuck says? And why aren’t you on me yet?!”

Ian grumbled some more even as he nudged Mickey’s legs further apart and slowly eased into him. Their grumpy sniping evaporated as Ian pulled back on Mickey’s hips and thrust deeply into him. Mickey released a shuddering breath and gripped his pillow as Ian began to move in earnest. It was always worth waiting for.

He groaned deeply as he felt Ian’s weight settle against his back, pressing him into the bed, and revelled in the feel of Ian’s warm hands burying in his hair and travelling up his thigh to skim the length of his body.

Ian nipped at Mickey’s shoulder as he rocked into him, keeping his strokes short and deep against Mickey’s prostate until Mickey was clenching around him and gasping his name. He nuzzled and licked the nape of Mickey’s neck and slid his hand in between the sheets and Mickey’s body to stroke his partner’s straining cock, triggering Mickey’s release. He buried his face in Mickey’s neck as he rode out his own orgasm, getting high on Mickey’s heat and scent until they were both collapsing in repletion.

* * *

 

Ian served Mickey a hearty dose of side-eye as they stood next to each other in their bathroom, brushing their teeth. Mickey was humming happily, blissfully ignoring Ian’s bitchy side-long glances. He finished gargling, spat out his mouthwash and aimed his pearly whites at Ian who rolled his eyes as he finished up his own toilette.

“All ready for round two,” Mickey crooned.

Ian narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms defiantly. “Well now that I’m all minty fresh, maybe I don’t feel like sticking my tongue just anywhere anymore.”

Mickey only smirked and drew closer to Ian. “Hmm, hard to get’s getting me hard, Gallagher.”

“You know, there’s going to come a day when that stupid line isn’t going to work on me!”

“Is today that day?” Mickey asked as he backed up towards their bedroom.

“No,” Ian sighed with a tinge of defeat.

“So put the chin away and let’s get our minty make out on,” Mickey said complete with clicking tongue and finger guns.

“God, you’re so stupid sometimes, it’s breathtaking,” Ian snorted even as he followed dutifully.

By the time Ian emerged into their bedroom, Mickey was already in bed and striking his most ridiculous seductive pose. “Hey, hey,” Mickey called out, “wanna do butt stuff?”

Ian burst out laughing in spite of himself. “Shut up before you ruin sexy time.”

“Yeah because I’m the one calling it ‘sexy time’,” Mickey sniffed while Ian came around to the foot of the bed. He also started laughing when Ian grabbed his ankles and dragged him closer to the edge. “The way you treat me,” Mickey tutted. “You know, you couldn’t have done that back in the day when Monster bed ruled these parts.”

“You need to let that go,” Ian said as he crawled over to straddle Mickey. “I had a larger than average bed, but then again I have larger than average everything, so it shouldn’t have been that surprising.”

“Oh ha ha… You know, I was going to bid to host the 2020 Olympics with that bed, but no, you had to ditch it for a normie just because I teased you a little bit.”

Ian dipped his head to capture Mickey’s lips with this own. He ground against Mickey as the kiss deepened and paused briefly to tug at Mickey’s lower lip with his teeth. “What did I say about shutting up and not ruining sexy time?”

Mickey grinned up at him unabashed. “Whatever you say, daddy.”

Ian snorted out a short laugh before resuming their kiss. He gripped the back of Mickey’s knee as they thrust against each other and Ian sighed as Mickey’s blunted nails raked the bare skin of his back. Ian broke the kiss to nibble along the column of Mickey’s throat, moving downwards until he was licking at one of Mickey’s nipples while he ran the rough pad of his thumb across the other. He could feel Mickey’s breath catch and groaned when Mickey’s fingers gripped his hair.

He continued his downward trek, kissing along Mickey’s abs and ghosting his lips over the beginning of Mickey’s treasure trail. He bit Mickey’s hip as he spread Mickey’s thighs further apart and massaged his perineum. He could feel Mickey’s entire body brace in anticipation as Ian’s lips sucked and nibbled ever closer to Mickey’s hardened cock, only for Ian to skip it completely to kiss Mickey’s thigh instead.

“I’m not wasting my fresh breath on your dick.”

“Oh, you asshole,” Mickey laughed, expelling his pent-up breath, “you’re a  fucking tease.”

The rest of Mickey’s words were cut off as Ian surged up to resume their heated kiss. Mickey melted into it and reached around to grip and knead Ian’s ass, urging on their heavy frottage. He then shoved Ian to the side and onto his back and moved to straddle him instead. He brushed his hair out his face and smirked down at Ian as the latter gripped his hips and thrust up against him.

“Need more lube?” Ian asked, referring to their earlier encounter.

“Maybe not, but you know I’d rather err on the side of caution Mr. Everything I have is larger than average.”

Ian gave him a lopsided grin and quickly reached for some lubricant from the night stand to slick his cock. “See, that would have taken around half an hour with Monster bed.”

Mickey snorted derisively as he braced one hand against Ian’s chest to slowly lower himself onto Ian’s erection. “Whatever, I’m always willing to do the work.” When he was fully seated, Mickey rolled his hips, drawing moans from them both. He moved faster, still bracing against Ian’s chest as he rocked faster and harder, gasping Ian’s name as the man angled his hips to drive against his prostate.

Their voices grew and filled the room, matching each other in volume and intensity. When they had just begun, Mickey had always admired and envied Ian’s lack of restraint and candidness when it came to expressing his pleasure and desire. It had not taken Mickey long to learn though. After years of quiet, furtive trysts, he could now shed his inhibitions and share the desires he had long kept to himself out of fear and embarrassment. He stroked his cock slowly as Ian squeezed his buttock hard enough to bruise, and cried out in pleasure when Ian delivered a stinging slap to his backside.

“More?” Ian panted.

“Fuck yes; fuck yes…” Mickey moaned and rode Ian harder, gasping sharply when Ian smacked his ass again. Mickey squeezed his cock to stem his burgeoning orgasm. “Shit, I’m so close already.”

Ian ran his hands up the length of Mickey’s body, drinking in the sight of him. He slid them back down to pinch and twist Mickey’s nipples. He teased and played until Mickey’s head was thrown back in ecstasy.

“Come here,” Mickey ordered hoarsely and Ian sat up to press closer.

They rocked together, matching speed and rhythm while tongue, lips and teeth clashed in an eating kiss. Ian groaned Mickey’s name against Mickey’s throat as he found his release and hugged Mickey close as he shuddered through it. He then fell back against his pillows, panting.    

“Hey, you still got a job to do,” Mickey reminded him and Ian followed his pointed look to see that Mickey was still rock hard.

“How did you not co—you did that on purpose!” Ian accused and Mickey only laughed and rolled off Ian to lie back expectantly. “You just want to give me dick breath.”

Despite knowing the trick and his earlier assertions, Ian got down to his task eagerly. He swallowed Mickey down, satisfied with the sharp hiss from his lover. They both knew Mickey wasn’t going to last long and Ian centred his efforts on the head of Mickey’s cock while his hand pumped his shaft. Before long, Mickey was tugging at his hair and coming in his mouth with a strangled moan. Mickey sagged bonelessly back into bed and grinned tiredly up at Ian.

“Satisfied?” Ian asked smugly.

“Completely.”

* * *

 

“There aren’t enough odes to your ass,” Ian mused out loud as he tenderly soothed Mickey’s reddened behind. Mickey figured it was typical that Ian would be the kind of guy to turn after care into a sort of kink. “It’s mostly my fault,” Ian continued, “I really should get on writing a sonnet or two immediately.”

“Yeah, are you going to love it as much in a few years when it’s halfway to my knees?”

“Indubitably,” Ian replied promptly, making Mickey smile into his pillow. “That’s an amazing visual, by the way; thanks for that. I’m already looking forward to it.”

“Whatever,” Mickey laughed.

“I’m so serious. I wonder if I’ll observe it happening or will it just sneak up on me? I’ll be just sitting on the couch, watching you shuffle past and it’ll just hit me all at once. Like ‘hey, look at that thing there. There’s a fine lad.”

“What the fuck was that?”

“I intend to get progressively more Irish as I age, so just keep that in mind,” Ian said. “I wonder how low my ass will get.”

“You don’t have a big enough ass to sag. Asses like yours just deflate,” Mickey informed him. “You’ll be that skinny old man with the concave ass that needs to take a cushion with him everywhere he goes.”

“Brutal… are you saying my butt isn’t bodacious?”

“Oh god, not you too. When did the word ‘bodacious’ make its way back into modern day lexicon?”

“Oh, listen to you with your ten dollar words,” Ian teased.

“‘Lexicon’ is not a ten dollar word—”

“I’m Mickey, I went to _the_ NYU. I’m a big nerd with an amazing ass.”

“Is that the start of your sonnet?”

“Told you I was going to start right away,” Ian said proudly. “It was in iambic pentameter and everything… I think.”

“Whatever, needs work.”

A short while later, they had settled into their favourite post-coital position, with Ian sprawled atop Mickey, his head resting on Mickey’s chest while Mickey idly ran his fingers through the red hair. Mickey paused and dropped his hand away from Ian’s head, just to be a dick, knowing full well the reaction he’d get.

Ian let out a grumpy, entitled whine that had Mickey laughing and relenting immediately. Mickey honestly couldn’t remember if Ian had learned that move from Lola, or Lola had learned it from her master. Either way, it was amazingly effective.

“Brat,” Mickey accused softly as he raked his fingers through Ian’s hair. Ian didn’t bother to defend himself. It was well understood in their household that Mickey could get away with committing all kinds of slander simply on the strength of his superior petting skills. Still, what Mickey said next could not be ignored. “Hey, looks like those grey hairs you have got a new friend.”

A dangerous stillness fell over the room. “What?”

“You’ve got a new grey hair,” Mickey began, still too deep in afterglow to realize his mistake. “You’ve got like three of them now.”

“I have grey hair?” Ian asked carefully, “…where?”

It was slowly and belatedly dawning on Mickey that he needed to tread very carefully. “Well I guess you can’t see it. They’re kind of at the back of your head,” Mickey told him and rubbed at Ian’s crown. “I guess only your barber and the guy you blow would be able to see them. You have to look really hard too…”

“Okay,” Ian said quietly.

“Ian…?”

“I have to use the bathroom,” Ian said suddenly and was soon striding towards the guest bathroom.

“Oh come on, really? You’re going to just leave me hanging here?” Mickey called to Ian’s retreating form. “I can’t just be lying here with my dick out.”

That was ridiculous enough to actually give Ian pause. “Why the fuck not? You’re in your own home!”

“These aren’t the last days of Rome, Ian. Not everyone is an exhibitionist like you. I like my nudity to have a purpose.” It was a pathetic ploy to keep Ian in bed and it was bound to fail.

“You just strung a bunch of nonsense words together and threw them at me,” Ian said, “I don’t have time for this. I need to use the bathroom.”

Mickey sighed and rolled out of bed. He just had to open his big mouth, but he had thought Ian had already discovered the grey hairs.  He made his way to the bathroom and discovered that the door was locked. “Why is the door locked?”

“I’m taking a shit!” Ian lied as he struggled to align the hand mirror properly so he could see the back of his head.

“That’s never stopped your open door policy before,” Mickey replied, remembering all the bathroom crime scenes he’d walked in on because of Ian’s love of experimental cuisine and disregard of privacy. “You can’t even see them, Ian. Don’t make a thing out of this.”

He was totally going to make a thing out of this.

* * *

 

Lip was clueless when he accompanied his brother into the drugstore to pick up “aspirin”. He had been waiting for an opportune time to bring up what he was sure would be a sensitive subject. As they strolled through the aisles of the store, Lip figured it was as good a time as any, but first, he had a more pressing question.

“Why are we looking at hair dye?”

“We’re not looking at hair dye, Lip!” Ian snapped, responding perhaps a little too quickly and with a little too much force. “We’re passing through the aisle. We have to pass through aisles to get from point A to B and this is the aisle we happen to be passing through. You have an issue; take it up with the floor planner!”

Lip wisely decided to drop that topic, only to pick up an even pricklier one. “So I’ve been meaning to ask you something about the impending wedding,” Lip began. He continued when Ian looked at him questioningly, “have you and Mickey put any thought into a prenup?”

The temperature in the store immediately fell several degrees. Ian went back to perusing the contents of the aisle. “We’re not signing a prenup.”

“Alright, I know that ‘prenup’ sounds like a dirty word to the hopeless romantics of the world, but it really isn’t. It’s not about not believing in your love, or planning to fail. This is about being practical and planning for contingencies.”

“We’re not signing a prenup.”

“So you discussed this with Mickey then?” Lip asked, “Because this is as much about protecting him as it is about safeguarding what you’ve worked for.” In retrospect, Lip realized he should have just led with that.

“Protecting Mickey how?” Ian asked begrudgingly.

“Look, we all know you guys are solid. What we don’t know is what the future holds, and things can go sideways. In the very unlikely eventuality that you guys part ways, a good iron-clad prenup would stop you from going scorched earth if you happen to be feeling particularly vengeful,” Lip explained.

“‘Scorched earth’?”

“Any half decent lawyer could argue that everything he has now and everything he’s done has been as a direct result of his association with you,” Lip continued, “he’d basically be entering the partnership with nothing and, were you to split without some kind of understanding, he could end up being in a way worse position than even when we hired him.”

Lip’s scenario was giving Ian very uncomfortable flashbacks to a time he’d rather forget. “We don’t need a prenup and that’s all I’m saying about it. I’d never do scorched earth and if we ever do split up, Mickey can take it all for all I’d care at that point.”

Lip raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, fine, but I keep hearing about how marriage is supposed to be a partnership and what not, so maybe discuss it with your partner first?”

The acidic look Ian gave him was enough to let Lip know that he needed to end this line of conversation. He decided to change the topic yet again to safer ground. “Think you guys will have everything ready for E3?”

“Who the fuck knows anymore,” Ian said tonelessly as he contemplated a box with a shade of red called “Cherry Ripe.” “Who knows how E3 will go? Tomorrow is promised to no one and nothing is certain but that we stand at the edge of the abyss, staring into it, hopelessly waiting for it to reach up and catch us by the throat.”

Lip blinked. “Found out about the grey hairs at the back of your head, huh?”

“You knew about this?!” Ian demanded incredulously, “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“For some crazy reason I thought you’d overreact,” Lip replied, “but clearly I was wrong. You do remember you have money, right? If you’re going to touch up, you can have it professionally done. You use any of this shit and there’s a good chance you’ll end up looking like a clown from a Stephen King novel.”

In his panic, that bit of logic had not occurred to Ian in the slightest. He quickly reshelved Cherry Ripe amongst her ilk. “Let’s go.”

“What, no longer need any aspirin?”

“Lip, I swear to god, I am so close to punching you in the dick right now. Do not push me.”

Lip swiftly decided that silence was a virtue.

* * *

 

“So this is pretty much shaping up to be an allegory for the nine circles of hell, isn’t it?” Raj asked Ian as their story writing session wrapped up.

“Penance and punishment with epic supernatural battles—it’s Dante’s Inferno meets God of War,” Annie added in eagerly.

“Meets Psychology Today,” Ian laughed. “So is that how we’re going to package it? Dante’s Inferno and God of War wrapped in haze of mental illness?”

“We’ll leave that up to you and marketing,” Raj replied, “but I think Sony would cut our throats in the middle of the night if we tried to make any money using even the implication of their boy, Kratos.”

“We’ll just suggest it in the forums and let the fans and the thinkpieces take it from there then,” Ian said and surveyed the group. “We good for now?”

“Remember I’ll be in California next weekend,” Annie said, “and possibly in jail for a couple more days after that.”

Macy, another writer, shook her head at her. “Are you seriously still planning on flying across the country to take part in that non-violent protest over that dumb TV show?”

“I don’t recall anyone saying it’s going to be non-violent,” Annie sniffed. “And _Brazen_ is not just a TV show; it’s a national treasure and we shall not stand idly by while it is systematically dismantled before our very eyes.”

“Look, your OTP’s not gonna bang it out anymore, alright? You guys need to get a grip and move on.”

“I will cut you, Macy!” Annie raged.

“Annie, stop threatening people. I can’t have Carol on my ass again about my team,” Ian sighed.

“Macy simply does not understand,” Raj added, coming to Annie’s defence. “There is simply no love like OTP love. I don’t know what measures I would be forced to take if my precious Kirk/Spock ship were to be irreparably disrupted by show runners.”

“I thought Spock/Uhura was supposed to be canon now,” Macy said drily.

“It was an alternate reality and therefore separate and apart, Macy!” Raj raged, “no one asked you!”

“See, Raj gets it,” Annie nodded. “Does Kirk/Spock even have a ship name?”

“As one of the first popular slash pairings, Kirk/Spock actually predates the now common practice of ship portmanteaus ,” Raj explained. “So they’re either just Kirk/Spock or, more modernly, Kock… Personally, to be honest, I prefer Kock.”

“Hey, me too!” Eric said as he stepped through the door and dropped in on the conversation while entirely devoid of context. “But I’ll pet that kitty if it’s right though. Bi high five!”

“Eric, if you don’t get away from me,” Raj warned, leaving Eric hanging.

Ian ignored the group and went to answer his buzzing phone. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Mickey greeted, “how’s it going?”

“Wrapping up a writing session. I’m surrounded by cartoon characters.”

“How are you just realizing this? I’m going to grab some dinner with Mandy and Emma; you in?”

“I can’t, we’re going to do a storyboarding session for the first boss fight. It could take a while,” Ian said. “Give Emma a hug and a kiss for me?”

“If I must,” Mickey sighed dramatically, making Ian smile.

“Alright, I’ll see you later. I love you.”

“Pfft, gay,” Mickey scoffed before hanging up.

Ian knew he only had to wait a minute before his phone was buzzing with an incoming text. _“Love you too, Red.”_ Ian smiled and returned to his group.

* * *

 

Mandy gave her brother a sidelong glance as he patted himself in search of a phantom cigarette. Before she could call him on it, a small body barrelled into her where she and her brother sat on the park bench. Her daughter always moved with a sense of urgency and impending doom.

“Mommy!” Emma demanded after she caught her breath.

“Hi?”

“My ice cream!”

“What about it?”

“Some big kid knocked it into the dirt!” Clearly this was about a DEFCON 2 in a five year old’s world.

“On purpose?” Mandy asked, she and Mickey already scanning the park for the perpetrator.

“Um, no,” Emma admitted hesitantly, “he had this huge backpack and he said he couldn’t see.”

“Did he apologize?” Mickey enquired and his niece nodded sullenly. She was the spitting image of her mother—a mini-Mandy—and it never failed to get him.

“He said he’d get me another one, but he doesn’t have any money.”

“Well then…” Mandy said soothingly, “not like we can snap some kid in half for an accident. He did apologize.”

That wasn’t sitting well with Emma. An apology was all well and good, but it wasn’t going to replace her chocolate double scoop. “But it’s bullshit, mommy!”

“Ay,” Mickey said, “what’d I say about watching that fucking potty mouth of yours?”

Emma paused for a moment and gave it some serious thought. “Nothing?”

“Oh… Guess it would be pretty hypocritical of me if I did.” Mickey dug into his pockets and fished out a bill. “Here, fuck off.” With that, Emma was off like a shot back to the ice cream cart.

“Did you just give my child a twenty to purchase sugar?” Mandy asked her brother.

“Too much?”

“You have no idea what things actually cost anymore,” Mandy teased. “I’m going to be calling you if I need help peeling her off the walls later.”

“I’ll send Ian; he lives for shit like that.” They fell silent as they sat and watched Emma running around the park playing with other children. Mickey mulled over the fact that his niece was the first Milkovich he was close to that was born outside of the Southside. “She’s a cute kid,” Mickey said, echoing a sentiment he’d shared a million times before. Mandy’s response, however, was atypical.

“Yeah,” she said fondly. “I was scared shitless of her for the longest time. It’s a miracle I made it this far.”

“The fuck out of here; you’re a great mom.”

“Maybe… but I really was pretty rough there in the beginning. I was lucky I had you and Ian around to bail me out so often.” There was a pause before Mandy began again in earnest. “You know, there were honestly some days there when I just couldn’t face her. All I could do was just shove her into Ian’s arms and get the fuck out of there.” She smiled wanly at her brother’s shocked expression. She knew he had had no idea how much she had struggled. “Postpartum is a bitch,” she confessed. “Plus, she was such a surprise, you know? After the way we grew up and the way I was, I knew I had no fucking business having and raising a kid. But then, she just showed up.”

Mickey was momentarily at a loss as to what to say. “But you’re a great mom,” he eventually repeated. “I see you with her. She loves you and I know you love the shit out of her. I mean, whatever it was, you snapped out of it.”

Mandy winced at the choice of words. “I really didn’t, Mick. For a long time, I couldn’t see a way out of it and I was panicking all the time. Talking to the group helped a little, but not enough. I’m still fighting through it now. I still look at Emma sometimes and all I can see are the million different ways I’m going to screw this little girl up and it cripples me. But I’m working on it though,” she reassured her silent brother. “It’s nowhere as bad as it used to be, but it still gets me…”

“I’ve been seeing someone,” she continued softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “For a while now.”

“Boyfriend?” Mickey asked brightly, feeling relieved to see a lifeline out of this unexpected heavy conversation with this sister, but she shook her head.

“A shrink,” she said, flooring him. “About a year now… I saw one for a while after my postpartum got really pretty bad, but I stopped when I thought I was doing okay. After a while, I figured out that maybe I needed to start again, see if I could get some help that the group couldn’t give me,” she continued, avoiding eye contact with Mickey as he stared at her dumbfounded.

“You never said…”

Mandy shrugged and shot him a furtive glance. “I didn’t know what to say. It was fucking embarrassing.”

“I wouldn’t have said nothing,” Mickey said, stung by the implication. “You’re doing what you have to do to be better. I wasn’t gonna shit on that.”

“I know you wouldn’t. I wasn’t embarrassed to tell you,” she explained, “I was just embarrassed, full stop. I still am, kinda.”

“You tell Ian?”

She glanced up again before nodding guiltily. That was the least surprising thing she’d said that afternoon. They both sat quietly and awkwardly for the moment with Mandy shooting uncertain glances at her brother and Mickey watching his niece, listening to her play and laugh with abandon.

“So, it’s been helping then?” Mickey asked finally.

“Yeah,” Mandy nodded.

“That’s good,” Mickey answered quietly, “that’s good.”

* * *

 

“You leave me anything?” Mickey asked Ian later that night as the latter tidied up in the kitchen.

“If I recall correctly, you were grabbing dinner with your sister and niece. Why would I make you another dinner?” Ian rolled his eyes at Mickey’s puppy face. “It’s in the oven.”

Mickey retrieved his dinner and dug into it while he stood behind Ian. He ate as he watched his partner potter about in the kitchen. “So, about the wedding and everything,” Mickey began and faltered a bit when he saw how quickly Ian snapped to attention. “Just wondering if there’s anything you wanted me to do or look at… or sign?”

Ian’s breath expelled in an angry whoosh. “I am so going to punch him in the fucking dick! What did he do? Did he say something to you? Did he call you?! I specifically fucking said—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! I didn’t talk to Lip or anybody, alright? I just know this is something that usually comes up around now. So if there’s anything you wanted me to look over?”

“No, there isn’t,” Ian said firmly.

Mickey licked his lips apprehensively but persisted. “Ian, it’s just a business thing. It’s about being smart about what you have; it’s not dooming the relationship or anything—”

“You know, you and Lip really should be better friends, because it’s like you two share a brain sometimes. We’re not a ‘business thing’, Mickey. Is there something you have that you don’t want me to get my hands on?”

Mickey snorted out a laugh. “Whatever, you know that’s not it. I just want my motives to be clear, you know? I don’t want there to be any mistake.”

“I know what your motives are and I know what we are. I don’t give a shit about what’s the sound or practical thing to do. Everything I have is yours, no matter how things shake out. Alright?”

Mickey nodded shyly. He eventually surrendered his plate and watched quietly while Ian finished washing up. “So, um, Mandy told me that she’s been seeing a shrink.”

Surprise filtered through Ian and he turned to face Mickey. “She did? Wow.”

“How come you never said?”

“Wasn’t my place to say,” Ian answered. “She’s been really self-conscious about it. She had to come to terms with it on her own.”

Mickey nodded and rubbed his lower lip anxiously. “You think I need that—to see somebody?”

You could have knocked Ian over with a feather. “Why? Is this something you’ve been thinking about?”

“You’re answering a question with a question.”

Ian took a breath and regarded Mickey steadily. “I think you’re perfect,” Ian said sincerely, “but I also know I’m pretty biased when it comes to you and maybe have some blinders on. I feel even the most stable and put together people in the world could benefit from a session or two. I mean if it’s something you’ve been thinking about…”

“I feel like I’ve been getting some heavy hints from all angles,” Mickey said, having strongly suspected Carrie might have encouraged Mandy’s confession. “Doesn’t mean I need that shit; doesn’t mean it’s okay for everybody.”

Ian crossed his arms. “Yeah? It’s not okay for you, but it’s okay for me and Mandy? Why do we get passes; because she’s a girl and I’m legit crazy?”

“That’s not what I said,” Mickey bristled, “you know that’s not what I said. Don’t go putting words in my mouth! What good’s this gonna do me, huh? Mandy needs to do right by Emma, you’re trying to keep your shit together, you’re both just doing what you’ve got to do. What’s the point of me doing that? Why can’t I just focus on the good shit happening now instead of remembering all that bullshit and jawing to some stranger who’s just going to overanalyze it and tell me what I already know? Why do I need to go dredging up all that shameful shit?”

“Hey, hey,” Ian grabbed Mickey and cupped Mickey’s face to calm him down. “I need you to understand something. The way we grew up; what they put us through? That’s not on us,” Ian said gently as he stroked Mickey’s face. “You and me, we’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, and the last thing I want is you walking around thinking that you do.” Ian paused for a moment and tenderly swiped his thumb across Mickey’s cheek. “It’s not for everyone, that’s probably true. So if you really feel that it’s not for you, I won’t force the issue. But, if even for a second you think that maybe talking to someone might help, it’s okay to do it; it’s not being weak. You’d just be doing what you have to do to keep your shit together too. I’m behind you, whatever you choose. Okay?”

Mickey visibly relaxed as he smiled up at Ian. “Yeah…okay.”     

 

**TBC**


	4. The Pursuit of Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait. I'll try my darndest to make sure that I don't take so long to post next (and likely last) chapter.  
> So there are a couple of things I wanted to ask you guys.
> 
> 1) So SHITW was written in the Stone Age, long before Shameless found it prudent to give Mickey a full name. I mentioned briefly that his name was Michael at the time, and I've been getting a few "FYI" reviews as to his proper name. Should I retcon that or leave it for posterity for a time long past? I should probably retcon that.
> 
> 2) For those who follow(ed) me on tumblr, you might know that I've turned my energies to developing my original work, including my newest OTP. I was thinking of making a little introduction for them so you can meet my current obsession and get a feel for the world I'm trying to build. I figure I'd post it on tumblr so you guys can take a gander and give some feedback if so inclined. Would anyone be interested in that? Let me know. I'd post a link to it at the beginning of the next chapter or something.
> 
> Anyway, enough of that. Thanks for your indulgence and patience, and I'll get on with it. ♥

“Did you know I have a thing for redheads?”

Mickey curled a lock of Ian’s hair around his finger as the latter rested his head on Mickey’s chest. Mickey grinned as Ian sniffed self-importantly.

“Of course, because of me.”

Mickey laughed, “Oh fuck you and your ego; that didn’t start with you.”

Ian remained unconvinced but let Mickey continue uninterrupted. “I’ve always had a thing for carrot tops. I will give it to you though; you are, hands down, the best one I’ve ever seen.”

“Naturally.”

“I remember the first time I saw you,” Mickey continued musing, “you guys were just blowing up and you were on the cover of some nerd bible in the store I was trying to knock over.”

“Did you swipe it?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

“Did you get a lot of use out of it?” Ian asked, grinning against Mickey’s chest.

“Don’t make it sound so cheap; glossy Ian and I had a beautiful and passionate relationship,” Mickey replied. “But yeah, you are definitely the best redhead there is. Even back then, I don’t know, I didn’t think I had preferences within the preference, but yours was just perfect somehow. The perfect shade…”

Ian grinned harder and snuggled closer to Mickey, beyond pleased with the praise and the current mood. That is until Mickey continued talking.

“So you can imagine how upset I’d be if in some vainglorious attempt to cling to youth or what have you, someone were to mess with this very specific, exactly perfect shade of red that I love so very much.”

Ian sat up abruptly and immediately began his breathless defence. “What the fuck, did Lip say something to you?! I went in there for some aspirin, did he tell you that?! I can’t help what’s in the aisle when I try to get from A to B. You got an issue; take it up with the floor manager—”

“Lip didn’t tell me shit,” Mickey cut in coolly.

“Then how did you—”

“Because I know you, and you’re an idiot,” Mickey explained. “Are you seriously making a thing out of a couple of grey hairs? When did you get _this_ vain?”

“Vain?!” Ian sputtered, “I’m being vain?! Did you or did you not just spend the last three minutes slowly getting hard over the utter, ‘specific’ perfection of my hair?!”

“Well yeah, but…”

“Me being a redhead has always been a big deal to you, and it’s growing out of my head, so naturally it’s always been a big deal to me. I don’t know if you know this, but greying is a continuous process. It’s not going to stop when I look wizened and distinguished. All this?” Ian said, waving a hand over the entirety of his head, “is going to disappear into a cloud of grey one day without intervention. So what then?”

“So then I’ll be way into silver foxes,” Mickey said with a grin, “I think Anderson Cooper’s been grey his entire life, you think I’d kick him out of bed? I mean, right? Anderson Cooper’s still super hot, yeah?”

“Do...do you really think this is the time to expound on the hotness of Anderson Cooper, you unbelievable twat?”

“Just making a point,” Mickey said quickly. “Dumbass, I think your hair is perfect because it happens to be growing out of your head. I’d have thought it was perfect no matter what shade it actually was.”

“So then a dye job would be no big deal…”

“Oh fuck yes it would,” Mickey retorted, “I’m used to that colour and I want to see it like that for as long as possible. Natural reds are tricky as hell. You start fucking around with it and next thing I know I’m going to feel like I’m getting nailed by a Stephen King villain.”

“Is that a Pennywise reference?” Ian asked dryly.

“If it is, what of it?”

“That hasn’t been topical in like ten years.”

“Maybe not, but it’s still applicable. Ian, I’m not fucking around, leave your hair alone or I will be pissed.”

“Fine!” Ian said huffily and settled back into his earlier position with his head atop Mickey’s chest.

“Besides,” Mickey continued trying to smooth Ian’s ruffled feathers as he stroked his hair, “you don’t want the hassle of maintaining a dye job. That shit’s like a prison sentence sometimes.”

“How would you know?” Ian pouted.

“You know, on the account of how me and Mandy are actually natural blondes.”

Ian’s head shot up so fast it was a miracle he didn’t get whiplash. Mickey promptly burst out laughing at his idiot’s gobsmacked expression. “Jesus Christ, you cannot be this easy. I’m fucking with you. You practically live inside my ass; I’m sure you’d notice if my roots needed a touch up.” Mickey kept laughing as Ian eyed him suspiciously even as the latter was settling back down again. “See, not so fun when your SO messes with your mind's eye.”

“Cuddle time is supposed to be stress free, Mickey.”

“Not even going to try to find a better name for this, are you?” Mickey sighed.

“What would you even look like as a blond?” Ian mused. “You’re so pale. You’d be walking around looking like you had a bright idea all the time.”

“You saying I’d have a light bulb head?” Mickey laughed.

“Or you’d look like Casper,” Ian said.

“Whatever, I’d make it work.”

“Yeah, you probably would.”

* * *

 

Mickey shuffled through the mail as he headed towards Ian who was standing sipping his morning coffee, staring serenely out a window.

“It’s like the year 3000; who is still sending us paper mail?” Mickey mused before tossing the mail on the table and slapping Ian on the ass. He followed Ian’s eyes to take in a window washer who seemed to be struggling mightily with his setup outside their condo. “Weren’t those just cleaned? Did we get any notifications about window cleaning or repair?”

“Nope,” Ian said placidly.

“So what am I looking at here?” Mickey asked, squinting a little at the man swaying dizzyingly outside their window.

“Nate,” Ian said with another blissful sip of his coffee.

Mickey did a double take before scrambling for his glasses and jamming them onto his face. “What the fuck! It’s Nate!”

Ian chuckled sinisterly into his coffee, “yep.”

“What the fuck’s he doing out there?!”

“Struggling clearly,” Ian said with sustained dark amusement. Nate was indeed having a warm time with the window washing rig outside their window. Mickey expected the man to go tumbling over the edge at any moment. Ian had his fingers crossed for just that outcome. “He’s doing some Nate nonsense. It’s either recon or he’s planning on busting in Mission Impossible style. Good luck cutting that circle into the glass.”

Mickey was still dumbstruck. “Is this really a thing people do outside of movies? People actually commandeer rigs to do this shit? This is actually a thing?!”

“Well obviously,” Ian said, nodding to the window.

“Nate is a cartoon character,” Mickey said, wincing as Nate pitched sideways. “I meant normal people; not that maniac.”

“Please, Mickey, that’s offensive to maniacs,” Ian sniffed. “I would know—I’m half maniac.”

Mickey burst out laughing before remembering the peril of the moment. “Why are you so stu—could you just call someone to get him down, please?”

Ian made a noncommittal noise. “Can’t we just see how this plays out a little while longer?”

“Ian! No! I will not have Nate splattered all over my sidewalk. Plus it’s Nate; he’ll cover miles! Who wants to walk their dogs through that?!” Mickey realized his error too late. The dogs had already been activated and were jumping and circling him in excitement. “No, that’s not what I—”

“You know you can’t say walk the dogs in a sentence if you don’t plan to actually walk the dogs, Mickey,” Ian murmured, whipping the dogs into a near frenzy.

“Ian!”

“Who wants to go walkies with Mickey?”

“Ian, I swear to god—alright! Fine, fine, go get your shit!” Mickey relented and the dogs shot off to fetch their leashes. Mickey used the brief respite to focus on Ian. “Ian, I am not kidding. Call whoever and get him down. I don’t want to see that when I come back.” Mickey got the dogs ready and prepared to head out. He ignored the tugging dogs and fixed Ian with a final look. “Ian?”

“Alright,” Ian pouted before muttering under his breath. “Never let me have any fun.”

* * *

 

Nate had to fight hard against the urge to toss off the paramedic’s blanket so he could get on his knees and kiss the ground. Instead, he stayed put in the back of the ambulance as the crowd lost interest in his rescue and humiliation, and quickly dispersed. He regretted fighting against the urge. Maybe if he had put his pride aside and made out with the ground, it would have opened up and swallowed him before Ian could reach him.

“Nate, long time,” Ian greeted him with bone-chilling warmth.

“Ian,” Nate croaked back.

“Didn’t know about the one way windows, huh?”

No, he hadn’t known. Nate had been horrified to see his own reflection staring back when he tried to peer into their apartment. By then though, his rig had started trying to kill him and he was faced with more pressing matters. He reddened but ignored Ian’s question.

“You know when Mickey told me you had reappeared, I braced myself for some kind of nonsense,” Ian continued. “Then when I saw you outside my window, flailing like an idiot, I felt myself getting into fight mode to protect my family and thwart said nonsense. But while I was watching the excruciatingly long rescue efforts, I had some time to think and I realize that I really don’t have time for this.”

Nate could only blink at Ian’s emphatic declaration and gaped as his sworn nemesis continued.

“It’s just that Mickey and I are at a really sensitive juncture in our lives and we’re working on our personal development. Especially Mickey!” Ian exclaimed, “he’s coming to some pretty important realizations about himself and he’s trying to push through it and go forward and I need to be here for that. I need to support him and be fully present for this and with that and work and my struggle to stay even… I just can’t do this thing with you. So how can we resolve this, like right now?”

Nate was momentarily dumbstruck. He eventually shook himself awake. “Well, why bother with a resolution at all? Clearly you’re busy, so why don’t I just bugger off and get out of your hair so you can get on with your personal development during this very sensitive juncture?”

Ian eyed Nate askance. “Sarcasm?”

“Of bloody course I’m being sarcastic, you rust-headed hand puppet!” Nate snarled as he struggled out the ambulance and tossed the blanket.      

“I don’t even know what that means…”

“Why anyone would think that I would give a damn about your life goals is completely beyond me,” Nate scoffed. “Unbelievable, completely unbelievable. After all this time and alleged self-actualization, how are you still the outrageously self-centred asshole you were nearly two decades ago?”

Ian looked on in disbelief. “I’m an asshole? You’ve been bitter and combative since the day we formed this company. You made my life hell at every opportunity and _I’m_ the asshole?”

“I wasn’t bitter from day one, Ian,” Nate pointed out, “Southside Enterprises wasn’t created the day you registered the trademark. It was born in the computer lab back at school, the day when you and Lip sold us on the videogame that just had to be made. You’re a great storyteller, Ian, but do you really think your ideas were in any way truly groundbreaking? The story wasn’t the most original, but the twists and outline were cool and your energy—whatever the source—was infectious, so we bought in. Your fever dream would have gone nowhere without my graphic design, Gary’s coding, Sydney’s storyboarding…without all of us! And what did you do once we got going? You let Lip go full mercenary on us and cut us out, just tossing us some consolation jobs to assuage your guilt. You don’t think I have a right to be bitter?!”

Ian scratched the bridge of his nose—a habit he’d picked up from Mickey whenever his fight or flight response got triggered. He stayed mum, however, as Nate continued venting his spleen.

“Then to add insult to injury, years later, your boy toy attacks me and destroys one of the few things I care about,” Nate fumed. “You don’t know what it’s like dealing with the bad jokes and the ridicule, just because you don’t understand someone’s lifestyle choices—”, Nate missed Ian’s incredulous snort and persisted in his diatribe. “—this does not give anyone a pass to invade my home and defile my love!”

“You’re right.”

Nate sputtered to a halt, “what?”

“You’re right,” Ian repeated.

“I am?”

Ian sighed, “look, back then I was half out of my mind, and Lip and I were paranoid as fuck that we were going to get screwed out of the one good thing we had going for us. I guess in trying to protect ourselves and our property, we were the ones who ended up doing the screwing. I guess any amends I tried to make were pretty weak in retrospect.”

Nate blinked, stupefied. He stammered badly as he tried to respond. “Y-yes, I suppose they were.”

“And if I had handled my issues with you more directly, Mickey probably wouldn’t have felt the need to step in and try to defend my honour…”

“No,” Nate said slowly, still sceptical of this turnaround. “No, he wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, so what do you want?”

“What?” Nate asked, bewildered, feeling himself growing wobbly with confusion.

“What do you need to make this right?”

“I don’t know,” Nate admitted at length, “I…I never thought I’d get this far.” He stood still for a moment while his mind scrambled desperately. “The wikis!” he said suddenly.

“Huh?”

“The wiki entries for the early games—I don’t think they sufficiently reflect the significance of my contributions.”

Ian began to question the notion but then thought better of it, “You know what; you got it. What else?”

“Stock options!” Nate blurted out, “The stock options I would have had had I still been around when you went public. Options I should have had from the very beginning, mind you.”

“I’ll talk to Mick and Lip. I’m sure we can come up with something that’s fair,” Ian nodded.

Nate was staggered at the windfall of good fortune. He quickly and greedily grasped for more. “As for reparations for Twilight Sparkle… I heard that Mickey might have a stuffed animal that I could—”

Ian took a menacing step forwards that had the man sputtering to a halt. “How about we buy you a really expensive replacement and pretend that you weren’t about to go down a dark and very dangerous path?” Ian suggested softly.

Nate gulped and nodded jerkily. “Fair,” he squeaked.

“So,” Ian brightened up suddenly, clapped his hands together and the world seemed to release its collective breath, “we’re good now, right? Amicable solution achieved?”

“I-I guess…?”

“Great! I’ll have my people call your people and iron everything out. So get some people!” Ian clicked his tongue and hit Nate with double barrelled finger guns before turning heel to head back home. “Good luck with the rest of your life, Nate!”

Nate waved feebly, feeling as if he’d been hit by a Mack truck. He had triumphed, his evil nemesis had been defeated and the loot had been plundered. Now what was he going to do with the rest of his life? What adventure would be woven next into the rich tapestry of his existence?

“Hey!” Fate called out and Nate turned to see Officers Martinez and Priestley, forgotten spectres from his haunted past.

“You!”

“Us,” Martinez confirmed, “Jesus, still nuts, huh? We got a bunch of phone calls and now we need to have a talk with you about the little stunt you just pulled.”

“Why?” Nate asked suspiciously.

“Well, crazy as it sounds, it’s not exactly legal to steal a window washing rig to trespass on private property and harass and violate the privacy of the people therein. There’s also the issue of creating a public disturbance with all that flailing and screaming you were doing up there.”

Nate sniffed delicately and tried to keep his composure. “What’s the statute of limitations on such charges?”

“Longer than an hour,” Priestley said dryly. “So you want to come with us for a minute?”

“Well, you see—” Nate began before charging away to jog up the street. “You’ll never take me alive!”

“Sir, you’re only embarrassing yourself—ay, fuck it,” Martinez scoffed and turned to his partner, “chase and taze?”

“The fuck for, just wait another minute.” As Priestley easily predicted, a minute later, Nate had keeled over a couple blocks over, huffing and puffing after figuratively and literally hitting the wall. “Alright, let’s go get him.”

* * *

 

“He knows just about anyone can edit Wikipedia, right?” Lip asked blithely as he sipped his coffee. He had met his younger brother at an outdoor café for lunch and had listened with a cocked eyebrow as Ian caught him up.

“I didn’t feel like belabouring the point. Let’s just say he’s god in a few of them, prove to him that we definitely did that and whatever happens after, happens,” Ian replied.

“He knows he can just buy our stock, right?” Lip continued to point out.

“Clearly he’d prefer it to be free,” Ian said, “can we just give him whatever and be done with it. I just want him out of my hair so I can focus on getting Mickey down the proverbial aisle and into therapy…”

Ian trailed off when he realized that his brother was no longer listening to him. He followed his brother’s gaze to see that he was now focused on another redhead—a stunning one with mile long legs who was splitting her attention between Lip and her nails. Before long, the young woman appeared to come to a conclusion and she slid out of her seat to come over to their table.

She nodded coolly to Ian before she swept her hair back and leaned down to whisper in Lip’s ear. Ian fought the urge to roll his eyes at the interplay before the young woman straightened up, gracefully turned heel, and strolled away. Lip watched her go, waiting to see if she’d look back one more time. She didn’t, apparently already forgotten all about her potential paramour. Lip figured that alone was worth a phone call. Ian took the folded paper the woman had left behind from his brother and read it.

“Trish?” Ian sniffed disdainfully, “what sort of trailer park princess realness?”

“Don’t judge,” Lip replied with a smile. “Bet Mickey would like her.”

“He does love a trashy redhead, so…” Ian admitted.

Lip shook his head at his brother and pocketed the phone number. “I really can’t believe you gave all this up for monogamy.”

“Gave what up, the thrilling risk of venereal disease?” Ian laughed. “I bought the dairy farm, according to you. Why keep going out to get milk?”

“Variety?” Lip offered. “There’re so many other types of milk out there! Strawberry milk,” he said, nodding to where the young woman had been seated, “almond milk, coconut milk… rice milk!” he exclaimed, tilting his head towards a young man of Japanese descent who was shyly sneaking peeks at Ian.

Ian glanced over at the man and rolled his eyes at his brother. “Rice milk, really? You micro-aggressive racist.”

“I can’t be racist; I voted for Kanye,” Lip defended himself.

“You didn’t vote for Kanye, you voted for chaos and a Yeezy-based economy.”

“You bought and sold just as much Adidas stock as I did,” Lip reminded him. He studied his brother closely for a moment before asking a strange question. “You’re really happy, aren’t you?”

Ian was about to reel off a sassy restort, but paused at the odd note of sincere bafflement in his brother’s voice. He looked back at his brother before nodding slowly. “Yeah…yeah, I’m happy.”

“Just like that? Like all the time?”

“I mean, you know there will be rough patches…really bad ones maybe, but yeah,” Ian said as he regarded his brother carefully, “I’m happy all the time.”

“Why though,” Lip persisted, “because of Mickey?”

Ian thought it over. “Mickey’s a huge part of it and the best part of it, but it’s not just because of him. It took a lot of hard work for me to get to where I am now. I’m stable, I’m committed to my self-care and staying even, I have a career I’m good at and have people who know they can depend on me. I started realizing I was happy when I finally felt like I fit in my skin after feeling like I was spiralling for ages,” Ian said. “Then Mickey came along and he became part of all of that and expanded it. I mean, I think he’s my soul mate and the best thing in the world, but maybe if we had met before I was truly okay with myself, it would have just been like crashing into each other, you know; powerful, but no good. It’s hard to explain, but I think about it all the time.” Ian stopped himself from babbling and studied his brother before hesitantly asking, “Aren’t you happy?”

Lip shrugged as he fished for a lighter to light his cigarette. “Fuck if I know what that is,” he said wryly.

“Seriously?”

“Emotions are some of those things I could never quite get a handle on, and ‘happy’ is one of the weirder ones. I don’t exactly know what it is anymore, even if I thought I did once.”

Ian frowned, “so…what are you then?”

“I don’t know, restless? Bored?” _Empty._ Lip expelled a plume of smoke and hazarded a bit of brutal honesty. “All I know is, I’ve been working my ass off trying not to be Frank. The problem is that the harder I work, is the more I find myself empathizing with the gross fuck despite myself. I look in the mirror sometimes and I see him looking back and it’s infuriating… and terrifying.”

Ian felt completely at sea as to how to deal with this loaded revelation. “How have I never wondered if any of us were actually happy?” he asked, bewildered.

“Because we were doing okay and that’s all that mattered,” Lip said with a comforting smile. “We spent our entire lives just trying to stay above the shit, who had time to worry about actually being happy?”

“Well, when was the last time you even thought you were... happy?”

Lip’s smile was small and enigmatic and he simply shrugged again. “I was thinking after you get hitched and the dust settles that I might take off for a while.”

“Where? And if you shrug one more time, I will strangle you!”

Lip laughed, “but I really don’t know though. I haven’t figured anything out yet. I just need to stretch my legs a little.”

To Ian, the idea was alarmingly Frank in its sentimentality. “Lip, maybe you should just—”

“I’m not taking off on you,” Lip interjected gently, “and I’m definitely not going anywhere without decent cell phone signal and emergency concierge service. The second you need me for anything, I’ll be back. I just need some time off.”

The brothers regarded each other silently across the small table. Ian tried to remember the last time they had truly been apart since they had chased a video game dream together. Memories of a time before with a broken and scattered family filled him as well as all the Frank parallels that hadn’t occurred to him until now. Ian thought once again about protesting and offering a list of alternatives to keep his brother put. Instead, he inhaled and nodded. “Whatever you need.”

* * *

 

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

Ian burst out laughing at the dry remark. “For fuck’s sake, it’s a Wikipedia edit and some stock. I just want him out of our hair.”

Mickey sniffed and scrolled through his tablet. “Another thing, as a father of a defenseless stuffed animal, I don’t know how comfortable I am delivering another innocent one right into the hands of some perverted fuck face.”

Ian came over to Mickey and captured his face in his hands. “Mickey, it will be a stuffed horse with cotton, hopefully absorbent, guts and plastic eyes. It does not give a fuck about Nate’s proclivities. Non-human toys have no feelings,” Ian quickly amended when Mickey took a sharp breath. “With the notable exception of Clay who has all the feelings and will probably be an Ivy League valedictorian one day… and the toys from _Toy Story_.” Ian quickly added again before Mickey could protest again. “Oh my god, we’re so getting you into therapy,” Ian muttered under his breath. “Just give Nate what he wants, please.”

Mickey snorted begrudgingly as Ian went to join Lola on the couch. She settled on his chest as Ian stretched out.

“Whatever, I’m just going to change the wiki back two days later,” Mickey grumbled.

 “You and Lip really should be better friends.”

Mickey didn’t bother responding to that as he evicted a loudly protesting Lola from the couch. “Yeah, yeah, go bark at your mother.” He readjusted Ian so he could get cuddled while he perused his tablet.

“So,” Ian started off as he hugged Mickey closely, “we all set for tomorrow?”

“You mean for city hall?” Mickey asked and felt Ian nod. “Just to head down there and sign the documents, right?”

“Yeah, just making sure you’re still okay with everything—”

“And that my feet weren’t getting cold?” Mickey deduced. “I told you, it’s fine, I’m onboard. Plus, it’s not even a big deal, right?”

“Totally not a big deal,” Ian quickly agreed.

“Right… I gotta admit though, I’m pretty excited about tomorrow,” Mickey said softly and Ian perked up immediately.

“You are?!”

“Yeah, Danny’s is having their grand opening on the Lower East Side.”

“The-the pizza joint?!”

“Yeah, what, you forget?” Mickey asked, glancing over his shoulder at a stupefied Ian. “We’ve been talking about it for ages. I figured after we get the marriage stuff done, we’d head down there and get a couple slices.”

“You’re excited for some pizza?” Ian repeated hollowly.

“Ian, when is the last time you had a decent deep dish pie without having to haul your ass all the way back to Chicago. If Danny’s is half as good as they are back home, it will be heaven. I’m telling you; tomorrow could be the first day of the rest of our lives.”

“Because of pizza?” Ian said weakly.

“Mmhmm,” Mickey hummed, smiling to himself being fully aware of the fact that Ian was behind him pouting up a storm over Mickey’s apparently whacked out priorities. He let Ian stew for a minute before adding, “you know another thing about tomorrow?”

“Are we still talking about the goddamned pizza?!”

Mickey turned to side-eye Ian. “What’s your problem, Sunshine? I was just going to say that I realize that after tomorrow, I’ll be officially sleeping with a married man.”

Ian’s blinked nonplussed before his pique dissolved and he eased into the mutual teasing. “What’s the matter, nervous?”

“I’ve never been with a married man before,” Mickey continued coyly, “at least I don’t think. You never really know the guys that show up to bang in a park bathroom.”

Ian snorted loudly. “Well don’t worry about it; I’ve been with a few. The pants come off the same way.”

“So you’re saying married sex is no different from living in sin sex?”

“If anything, it can only get better,” Ian said confidently.

“Ah, so I guess you’d rather wait for tomorrow and you’d have no interest in getting on me and taking one last bite out of this still single ass; kiss it goodbye?”

“I mean, for the sake of nostalgia…”

Mickey laughed, got to his feet and started heading to their bedroom with Ian closely following.

“You better get it while it’s hot,” Mickey called back as he peeled off his shirt, “because after tomorrow, I might start developing a whole lot of headaches.”

“Good thing I have a cure for that,” Ian smirked, sliding past Mickey.

“Yeah a bet you do,” Mickey said as he closed their bedroom door, “come show it to me.”  

 

**TBC**


	5. Going to the Chapel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive and I haven't forgotten my duties. My crazy life hampers things, but trust that I'll always finish what I started.  
> This is the penultimate chapter of this mini-sequel and hopefully the final chapter will be here pretty soon. 
> 
> If you have time and are so inclined, you can check out the two-part [sample](http://goodkwuestion.tumblr.com/post/171382117009/the-recruit-part-1) I wrote for the original work I'm now focused on. You can see the world I'm trying to build and meet some of my people. The pair you'd meet in the sample are partly an homage to my old OTP loves so they have a ton of Ian/Mickey shout-outs. If you read it, please let me know what you thought. 
> 
> Now on with the show!

If you had told Ian at fifteen that nearly two decades later, he would be spending his morning gazing wistfully at Pinterest weddings, his reaction would have been...sceptical to say the least. Then again, there were many number of things about his current reality that a teenage Ian couldn’t have digested. As it was, here he sat, scrolling through pictures of white weddings, destination nuptials, and knot-tying on sun-drenched beaches.

He felt guilty for doing this, because he knew deep down that demonstrativeness wasn’t important. All he truly cared about was that Mickey had agreed to make it official, and even that was just icing on the cake. Still, he couldn’t help but dream a little. He was a heart on his sleeve, shout it from the rooftops type of guy. He sighed a little as he scrolled, but his reverie was broken by a timely message from his husband to be.

_ “Let’s do this.” _

Ian grinned at the succinct message and his wistful yearning evaporated. He had to go get hitched. He switched off his computer and prepared to head out the door but was stopped short by a small contingent of his employees: Annie, Jimmy, Raj and Lindsay blocked his exit and Ian was left looking at them nonplussed. “Uh, what’s up, guys?”

“Annie Adair, Glam Squad,” Annie declared, flashing her compact like a detective badge.

Ian wished he could say that this was the strangest thing an employee had ever done, but this was pretty tame and way down on the list. Unfortunately, he had no time for shenanigans; he had to get to City Hall before Mickey’s feet completely froze over. “Okay guys, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I have somewhere I need to be.”

“You are where you need to be--in the care of the Glam Squad,” Annie replied, yet again flashing her compact. “Let’s begin, shall we?” she said, and the group advanced in unison, pushing Ian back into his office.

“Okay seriously, what is going on?!”

“Damn it, Ian, we have no time for your adorable ignorance,” Lindsay chimed in, “we have a hundred cheese puffs and a sensitive assistant, both on the verge of collapse!”

“You have got to stop quoting the Golden Girls, Lindsay,” Raj sighed before turning to Ian, “and Ian, no offense, but this has got to be the most obviously telegraphed plot twist in the recent history of telegraphing plot twists. Stevie Wonder saw this coming.”

“Ah yeah he did… because he isn’t really blind!” Jimmy said.

“Baby, let it go already,” Annie said tiredly. This was a well-worn path that she really didn’t want revisited.

“What’s he doing at basketball games then, huh?!”

In the midst of the hubbub, Ian was slowly piecing it all together. “Where’s Mick?”

“In his office, possibly getting wrestled to the floor by Mandy and Carrie,” Annie informed him, “he will get some colour on his cheeks by blush or by blood,” she added with terrifying intensity before flipping back to princess mode. “So let’s get started. I’m getting you pretty.”

“I’ve got your suit,” Lindsay said, hoisting a garment bag high.

“I’m here to provide some much needed testosterone support,” Jimmy said when Ian’s eyes fell on him. “If you need a fist bump or for me to grunt at you or whatever, I got you.”

“And with their skills and my also being here, we’ll get you ready for the first day of the rest of your life,” Raj said with an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Ian was unmoved and uncertain. “Is Mickey okay with this?”

“Honey, whose idea do you think it was?” Annie said, gentling in the face of Ian’s anxiety. “You’re not a City Hall type of guy, Ian. He knows that.”

“He’s not a wedding bells kind of guy either,” Ian replied.

“True,” Annie nodded, “so maybe he figured you'd meet somewhere in the middle. The quicker you get glammed up, the sooner you get to see how we tried to make it work.”

* * *

The middle, as it turned out, was located on the roof of their work building, and apparently a lot can get down on the quiet when you’re neck deep in wedding pinterests. Ian stood gaping for a moment at the flower-laden gazebo and the white chairs arranged neatly on either side of the aisle. Their families had flown in, and milled about chatting with their friends and colleagues while they waited for the festivities to begin. Ian wasn’t ready for them yet; there was just one person he needed to see first.

“He’s in the stairwell,” Mandy told him after spotting him in his hiding place, “go get him.”

Mickey almost swallowed his cigarette when Ian stepped inside. He coughed and sputtered, making his eyes water a bit as Ian descended the steps to his landing. “I haven’t been cheating!” he croaked. “This is the first one I’ve had in forever, I swear! I just needed a...a…”

“It’s okay,” Ian soothed, “I think you deserve a pass for this one.” He smoothed out the lapels of Mickey’s tux before stroking Mickey’s cheek. “We okay?”

Mickey expelled a short laugh and tossed the cigarette butt. “I got married at the lodge that first time,” he began softly. “I still remember it like it was yesterday. I was sweating in the kitchen, wearing a suit my dad got for me that was like twice my size. I felt like I was drowning and stifling all at the same time,” he told Ian as the latter looked on sadly. “It was the worst goddamned feeling in the world.” He hesitated briefly as he looked up into Ian’s eyes, “honestly, when you said you wanted to get hitched, I was kinda scared that feeling might come back.”

“Has it?”

Mickey smiled and tugged gently on Ian’s jacket. “No… actually the opposite.”

Ian sagged a little in relief. “Maybe because the suit fits this time around.”

“Everything fits,” Mickey said softly and sincerely, and was rewarded for his reassurance by Ian immediately tearing up a little. Mickey rolled his eyes goodnaturedly, “man, you’re fucking soft.”

“Shut up!” Ian groused before pulling Mickey to him. 

“Does it taste like licking an ashtray again?” Mickey asked when they broke their kiss.  

“It was never like licking an ashtray,” Ian laughed, “and I can’t be too mad at it, this is kind of what you tasted like when we just started hooking up. I can live without it though,” Ian added quickly lest Mickey took it as encouragement to resume smoking.

“It was just this one time!”

“Yeah okay,” Ian said and pulled Mickey close again.

“Hey, asswipes, can we get this show on the road?!” Mandy yelled at them from the door. “These shoes are fucking me up!” she added before disappearing.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” Ian told Mickey when they were alone again. “We can just go to City Hall like we planned, and we don’t even have to do that either. We can skip everything and go get that deep dish you wanted.”

“Ian, I flew in half of Chicago to be here and had two pounds of makeup forcibly shoved up my ass. I’m glad you suddenly decided to be all low maintenance, but I am not getting my ass beat because you think you can hang now. We’re doing this. Let’s get hitched.”

* * *

The next thing they knew, they were in front of the gazebo, standing before Carrie in all her flower-crowned glory, while Lip and Mandy took their place next to their respective siblings.

“You look like a Snapchat flower filter,” Ian whispered to Carrie in admiration.

“This is the future, baby, no one knows what that is anymore,” she whispered back, “but thank you; I know I’m cute.” She then took a breath, looked out at the expectant faces and began, “Dearly beloved…”

“Really?” Mickey asked.

_ “Shut up!” _ she hissed, “we are gathered here today to witness the joining of these two in holy-” she swiftly silenced the grooms with a look before either idiot could say anything, “-matrimony. Before we continue, one of our Southside writers, Izzie, would like to pay a tribute to Ian and Mickey.”

Izzie tottered to the front and smoothed her bodycon dress while giving a toss of her hair. “This song is a special one for Ian and Mickey. Ian has told us time and time again, just how much this song meant to them when everything was new and fragile and wonderful.”

For the life of Mickey and Ian, neither of them could think of what that song could be. Mickey looked at Ian quizzically, who in turn simply shrugged. Izzie was about to end the mystery. She started off with a truly impressive series of vocal runs that had almost everyone sighing dreamily.

_ “I’m just a bachelor, looking for a partner,” _ she crooned.

“Oh god,” Ian said in sudden realization.

_ “Someone who knows how to ride…” _

“Okay, see sometimes we might have a drink or two during story planning…” Ian quietly and quickly explained to a gobsmacked Mickey. Meanwhile Izzie’s voice was soaring to the heavens.

_ “If you’re horny, let’s do it! Ride it, my pony!” _

“Alright so,” Ian began once more, “that song was playing in the game in the background the first time we-”

“I remember.” Mickey said quickly.

“I might have mentioned it a couple times.”

_ “Come and jump on it!” _

While Ian realized that maybe he should never drink and storyboard again, even he had to admit that Izzie made it an absolute tour de force of a song. Ginuwine would have been moved to tears, and Raj was getting his life in his seat for this song was his jam.

_ “My saddle’s waiting; come and jump on it!”  _ Izzie finished with a flourish to wild applause. Carrie was unimpressed.

“You couldn’t sing Ave Maria or some shit?” she said, covered by the delighted cheering as she took the mic back from Izzie. “Go sit your Barbie ass down, we’re gonna have words later. I’m trying to make this mess classy,” she muttered before beaming at the couple and the audience as they quieted down.

“Marriage is an honorable estate that should not be entered into lightly or unadvisedly, but reverently and soberly,” she said and addressed the couple, “and we all know you’re good there because this is not new to you. You have been walking this path together for a long time. You have stood by each other through some of the scariest highs and some of the darkest lows and you’ve emerged from it all not just wiser and a little battle-scarred, but stronger and more committed every time.

In countless other universes out there, you exist in infinite ways. You may have found each other in a million different times and still made it to the end together. Or maybe things fell apart in so many ways or you kept missing each other by this much and ended walking different paths. But here, in this one, there’s no doubt to your happy ending together. Here, in this universe, you belong together, and for all of us that know you, no one can tell us differently. So no matter what happens in a million other universes, here your love is safe and you are sound, and we know you will hold each other close until we reach the end.” 

Mickey squeezed Ian’s hand and Ian returned the caress. Carrie gave them and herself a moment before she continued.   

“Plus, you know like I said before, after all this time, you two can still scare the shit out of each other. Anyone who knows anything knows that’s the the true corner of a lasting relationship, so you’ve got that going for you too.”

Carrie’s eyes swept the surroundings, taking in everyone gathered. “Into this estate, these two persons present come now to be joined. If anyone can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let them speak now, or learn how to read a room, and forever hold their peace,” Carrie paused long enough to sweep the gathering with a death glare that would have cowed the boldest heart. Not a soul dared uttered a peep. “Awesome!,” she declared with obvious satisfaction before focusing on the couple. She dropped her voice to a whisper, “um, do you guys have vows or something?”

Ian could see the flash of panic in Mickey’s eyes when they swung to him and flicked across the crowd. Ian smiled at Mickey reassuringly before shaking his head at Carrie. “It’s been ten years; we’ve pretty much said it all already,” he told her and he could feel Mickey almost going limp with relief. This Ian knew he could do without and spare Mickey the torture. Whatever they had left to say, they could say it in their own time, in their own way.

“Switch rings for a sec,” Carrie told them, initiating a two minute struggle where the two men attempted to get their rings off. After they finally managed the swap, she instructed them to slip the rings on each other while they repeated after her. “Ian, do you  take Mickey to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honor, and cherish, 'til death do you part?”

“I do,” Ian replied.

“And, Mickey, do you vow to do all the stuff I just said to him?”

Mickey snorted out a laugh as Ian grinned back, and felt the last vestiges of his nervous energy dissipate. He had never been surer of anything than he was in that moment. “I do.”

“Then by the authority vested in me by the State of New York and soyouthinkyoucanwed.com, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss your man.”

The family and friends gathered erupted into wild applause and cheering as the two shared their first wedded kiss. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the happy couple!” Carrie declared when Ian and Mickey finally came up for air. “We’ll figure out the names later!”

Ian grabbed Mickey’s hand as they were showered with ecofetti and flower petals. One moment, they were swept up in joyful, colourful chaos as they ran through the well-wishers, and the next moment they were in the cool, sober and silent office of the head of Human Resources.

* * *

“Well!” Carol said after they were plopped down in front of her. “It was about time you crazy kids made it legal,” she went on as she gathered papers together and Carrie, Mandy, and Lip reverently filed in. “I remember the last time I had you two here like this; it was to sign the love contract. Now you’re here again, essentially doing the same thing on a grander scale--sunrise, sunset!” She sighed as she carefully set the paperwork in front of them. “Read and sign on the appropriate and relevant lines.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing all this?” Lip whispered to Carrie.

“Yeah, well I am, sorta,” Carrie tittered, “it’s just that she’s a notary public and well, it’s motherfreaking Carol!” Still, Carrie did feel the need to take charge at least a little bit. “So while we get all the paperwork done, Izzie is back to provide some ambiance!” she said with a flourish as Izzie tottered in and squeezed her way past to the table.

“So this is another one that Ian said was special to…” she trailed off as Carol and Carrie threatened to incinerate her with only their eyes. Without further preamble, she began her gently stirring rendition of Ave Maria. Soon all was signed and all was official.

“Thank you,” Carol tapped the papers on the table to neaten everything and stood up, “by the power vested in me by the State of New York, the New York State Department of Labor and Southside Enterprises, I declare this upgrade in your relationship status as duly recognized and above board.”

“Kind of did that part already, but a’ight,” Carrie grumbled beneath her breath. 

Carol paid no attention, “mazel tov; but you still aren’t allowed to have sex in my office.” 

Ian and Mickey shared a look. “So what do we do now?” Ian asked.

Carrie was back on the ball. “What you do is give me an access key to your place and fuck off until, like, six. We still have setting up to do. Go tell the world you’re respectable now!”

Ian looked at Mickey again and contemplated for a moment. “You wanna go get that pizza?”

“Fuck yeah, I wanna go get that pizza,” Mickey agreed as he quickly tossed Carrie his keycard and followed his husband out. As they made their way towards the elevator bank, Mickey brought up a pertinent issue. “So what, are we gonna seal this deal down in the garage or what?”

“Mickey, I’m not consummating my marriage in the back of sedan!”

“That ‘sedan’ is a Bentley and cost like two hundred thousand dollars! That’s like banging in an entire house,” Mickey pointed out. “And since when do _you_ find the back seat objectionable? We’re legal so we’re too posh now?”

“I just want to make it official in my own home is all,” Ian insisted.

“Rose petals and shit?” Mickey teased and Ian ignored him as he pressed the down button. “Is a celebratory handjob out of the question?”

“Of course handjobs are fine. What am I, Mormon?”

“And a slam on the Mormons out of nowhere!” Mickey laughed out loud, “what the hell was that? Am I going to see whole new sides of you?”

“Are you kidding, you only saw the tip of the iceberg. Now that I’ve managed to trap you into marriage after a mere decade, I’m about to unleash the full force of my broken psyche.”

“Shit, I better start taking my vitamins.”

Ian pierced him with a look. “Haven’t you been taking your vitamins?!”

“Yeah...the gummy ones, but-” Mickey found it prudent to switch the topic quickly, “how about fingering in the back of sedans? That okay?”

“Nothing penetrative,” Ian declared imperiously. 

“I can’t believe we’ve been married for-” Mickey checked his watch , “-three minutes and I’m already sweating here, negotiating for sex. What’s next; you gonna start having headaches?”

“You better strap yourself in is all I have to say,” Ian grinned as they stepped inside the elevator and the doors slid closed behind them.

“Is a blow job penetrative?”

Ian seemed to think it over. “I guess it could be, but I’d allow it.”

“Daddy’s always so generous,” Mickey purred and Ian rolled his eyes, though he did not hide his smirk. “So do we have to wait until we’re in the car or-”

“I’d really rather you guys waited,” came a dry response that had them nearly jumping out of their skin.

“Jesus H. Christ, Raj!” Ian bellowed, “why do you keep doing this shit?! This bit is getting old!”

“What bit?! Getting on the elevator before you two sociopaths?! Am I supposed to exile myself to the stairs?! Throw myself off the roof?!” Raj ranted as the doors opened to his desired floor. He fumed past the two before turning around, “the wedding was beautiful by the way. It was about time!” He yelled at the pair.

* * *

Raj made his way towards the kiosk. He had come down from helping to tidy up the roof to stock up on coffee and snacks for himself and his cohorts to they could head to phase two of the festivities prep. He found Gabby zoned out at her post. “Where in the world is Gabby Sandiego?”

“Nowhere but at my post like a good NPC,” she sighed before shaking her head and sheepishly waving off his quizzical expression. “Sorry, I’m being weird. I need to just shut up about it.”

“You think you’re an NPC?” Raj asked her, intrigued.

“Ah, yeah, sorry, I know it sounds crazy,” she mumbled.

“What’s crazy about it?” he replied as he slid the order list to her, “i think a good NPC is one of the greatest things you can be.”

Gabby blinked at him. “You don’t think that’s psychotic? And aren’t you going to say I should think of myself as a main character or something?”

“I’m a writer for a video game company. No one appreciates a good NPC like we do,” Raj nodded. “Main characters are absolute necessities of course, but they are entropy and chaos, living magnets of drama and hapless circumstance. If the world was nothing but heroes, villains and their ilk? Exciting, yeah, but disastrous.”

“So...you’re saying being an NPC can be a good thing?”

“Of course, just because a person is in the background, living their life quietly from day to day doesn’t diminish their importance and their meaning. It can be hard enough simply existing and finding the strength to keep on doing it. Besides, NPCs are usually the linchpins of a good story. When I create one, I like to reiterate them throughout all my worlds. Think about all that character has seen, the quests they’ve helped...an enduring NPC can transcend a single story to become a fixed point in time.”

“Wow,” Gabby whispered, “you sound crazier than I do.”

Raj laughed. “I just empathize pretty strongly I guess. When you spend your life being the kind of Invisible man who isn’t a superhero, you develop some pretty strange philosophies...and also some PTSD from some of the messed up stuff you’ve seen when no one thinks you're there.”

Gabby grinned back sunnily. “I’ve never really thought about the whole background character thing in that kind of positive light before. Thanks for not saying it’s crazy, or for making it out like it’s some kind of low self-esteem thing. I actually do like myself a lot.”

“And what’s not to like?” Raj nodded with enough conviction to make Gabby redden a little.

“For what it’s worth, I never thought of you as an Invisible guy. I’ve always seen you,” she said before sputtering a little out of embarrassment, “Although it couldn’t hurt to wear some brighter colours for the elevator rides.”

Raj grinned and nodded, “noted.” He bounced a little on his heels as he waited for Gabby to get his order ready. When she returned, he used the sum total of the courage he’d been building up. “So, what are your thoughts on wedding receptions? Because I’ve got the inside scoop on the hottest one in town.”

* * *

Ian and Mickey paused outside their door a moment before opening it. “What do you think is about to happen?” Ian mused and Mickey scrunched his nose.

“Confetti? Probably a t-shirt cannon,” he suggested.

Ian laughed at the thought, but it wasn’t totally out of the realm of possibility. “Are you sure you want to go in? We can ditch if it’s too much.”

“Again, I love this attempt to be low maintenance all of a sudden, but you’re like ten years late and a bunch of dollars short,” Mickey laughed. “But seriously, it’s fine. I signed off on all of this, remember? I can maintain.” His phone hummed as he reassured Ian. “ _ ‘Are you bitches coming in or what?’ _ ” Carrie’s message read and Mickey nodded to Ian. “We better get in there.”

Ian opened their front door and was immediately assaulted with a blast of noise and well-wishes.  _ “Congratulations!” _

Their families and close friends had gathered to celebrate. Black, white, silver, and gold balloons and flowers adorned their home. A mini stage had been created in their living room for karaoke and the occasional schmaltzy speech. 

“Seriously?” Mickey asked his sister as she appeared to press champagne into the couple’s hands. “Karaoke? You guys have a fog machine ready too?”

“Carrie says your marriage isn’t valid unless you sing for it,” Mandy informed her brother. “I don’t make the rules, I just enforce them.”

The newlyweds simply shared a look before shrugging and diving into their party.

 

**TBC**


	6. Song of Swans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been real, you guys.  
> Love always.

_Nobody said it was easy_

_It's such a shame for us to part_

_Nobody said it was easy_

_No one ever said it would be this hard_

_Oh take me back to the start_

_-Coldplay (The Scientist)_

 

Ian was on his third glass of champagne and was trying to check himself in case he needed to slow down. He was buzzing, but it had nothing to do with the alcohol. He knew he was defaulting to an old habit to help keep his emotions in check, but reality was settling on him in increments and making him intensely emotional. He was practically vibrating, and even after all this time and all the work he’d done, he was still apprehensive about feeling too much at once. Still, the champagne was relaxing and, more importantly, he was with the people he loved and trusted the most. If there was ever a time to relax and let go, it was now.

“I thought love was only true in fairy tales…”

Ian nearly did a spit take. He hadn’t really been paying attention to the ongoing karaoke session, being more intent on trying to mellow out and catching up with his family. Somehow, Carrie, the miracle worker, had bullied Mickey onto the small stage, and the man had selected the most appropriate song he could think of for the occasion.

“Meant for someone else but not for me,” Mickey crooned. Ian had no delusions of Mickey becoming a runaway pop idol, but his voice would always be the best thing he’d ever heard. “Love was out to get me, that’s the way it seemed. Disappointment haunted all my dreams…”

There was the dramatic pause as an expectant silence gripped the room.

“But then I saw his face-” Mickey began, pointing to Ian like Babe Ruth calling a shot.

“-now I’m a believer!” the gathering screamed back, all far too tipsy to appreciate the perfect blackmail material unfolding in front of them. They scream-sang along with Mickey as the festivities truly got underway.

“I couldn’t leave him if I tried,” Mickey warbled, and truer words had never been uttered. He was going to pay for this later, he knew. When his brothers sobered up, they were going to give him hell for the cringey, soft, corny mess he’d turned into. He’d pay that price gladly, for in that moment, with his friends cheering wildly and Ian staring up at him with wide, shining eyes, Mickey Milkovich had never felt more like a rock star.

Later, Ian tried valiantly to uphold his end of the karaoke bargain. He and almost everyone else were already several sheets to the wind when he started his growly rendition of the Nine Inch Nail’s “Closer”. He was getting closer to God when the world spun for a bit, causing him to lose his balance and topple backwards, making Mickey’s heart stop for a second.

“He’s okay!” Iggy yelled to him over the hubbub from across the room. “Jaime broke his fall. It’s like landing on a Snorlax!”

Mickey shook his head as Ian got to his feet no worse for wear. “I put a ring on that,” he mused aloud as Ian happily and unsteadily retook his spot on the stage.

“Best thing you ever did,” Carrie nodded. Mickey could not agree more.

* * *

“Raj!”

Raj nearly jumped clean out of his skin when Ian called to him. He and Gabby had made their way to the roof of Ian’s building to get away from the noise of the party, to appreciate the view and continue their conversation. Ian was already there in a lounge chair, hoping the cool night air would sober him up a little.

“Not so fun when it happens to you, is it?!” Ian crowed a bit. “Sorry I scared you though.”

“Congratulations on your nuptials,” Gabby offered shyly. “And nice job on the Closer rendition. It was both terrifying and arousing,” she shared before wincing. “Was that overshare?” she asked Raj, “I have trouble with that sometimes.”

“Thanks, blue haired fairy,” Ian smiled before turning to Raj, “I’m not the only one that sees her, right?” he relaxed when he was assured that Gabby was indeed real. He shook his head and eyed them curiously. “Whatcha guys doing?”

“Nothing really. Just chatting about a game concept,” Raj replied.

“Oh, I know a guy that makes video games,” Ian slurred, though perking up a bit. He struggled to his feet and drew closer to the couple. “What’s it about?”

Raj shook his head, “it’s just an idea and nowhere near pitch-worthy. Besides, now wouldn’t be the appropriate time to-”

Ian noisily snorted. “Now is the perfect time! You should go for it. I can deny no one anything on this, the day of my daughter’s wedding.”

“Ian, it’s _your_ wedding day,” Raj told him patiently.

Ian’s green eyes grew in wonder. “It is?!” he gasped, apparently genuinely surprised and delighted by the news. “That’s even fucking better!” he declared, slapping Raj on the chest with both hands so hard, the latter thought his lungs would collapse.

“He’s so strong,” Raj wheezed when Gabby looked on with concern.

“So what’s the idea?” Ian asked again.

“A game about NPCs,” Gabby offered since Raj was still struggling to catch his breath. “We were just wondering what an adventure game would look like from their point of view. We haven’t figured out the how of it yet.”

“That sounds fascinating as fuck,” Ian said. “Actually, no it doesn’t. It just sounds confusing, but let’s workshop this!”

“Umm,” Raj and Gabby hedged nervously. Fortunately, rescue was on the way.

“When the fuck did you get up here?!” Mickey demanded and Ian’s attention was immediately and happily diverted to the newcomer. “I swear to god, I go to take a piss for five minutes and you apparate all over the goddamn building.”

Ian didn’t even have a response to the upbraiding. He simply grinned as Mickey came and got him. Gabby figured if Ian had a tail, it would have been wagging in overdrive. Mickey’s own grumpiness seemed to evaporate too as he stroked Ian’s face and gave him a once over. “You good?”

“Mmhmm,” Ian hummed.

“You’re fucked up is what you are,” Mickey said, amused.

“I didn’t even drink that much,” Ian pleaded softly.

“Yeah, I know. I was watching,” Mickey replied with sympathy, “but you know this shit you’re on. Come on, half the people in the house are probably robbing us right now. Stay where I can keep an eye on all of you.” Mickey then seemed to realize that they weren’t alone. He quirked an eyebrow at the two bystanders. “You two alright?”

Raj and Gabby nodded jerkily as Ian chimed in again, much to their detriment. “They have an idea for a video game!”

Gabby could swear she heard thunder when Mickey’s stare landed on them again. “You’re pitching to him when he’s this fucked up?”

Raj and Gabby could only shake their heads wildly in denial. Fortunately, the same man to get them in trouble swooped in yet again to try and get them out of it. “Not pitching, brainstorming.”

That didn’t make things any clearer, but Ian was a handful when he was loopy and Mickey knew Raj could barely cope with that, let alone to try to take advantage of his friend. Mickey rolled his eyes and herded Ian towards the roof exit. “Yeah, okay, you can brainstorm another time. Let’s leave them alone and get some coffee in you.”

The couple sighed with heavy relief as Ian and Mickey disappeared from sight. “And that’s what it’s like in the elevator,” Raj sighed. Gabby could only imagine the stress.

* * *

At the end of the festivities, Mickey would once again have to hunt for his wayward love and soon found him stretched out at the foot of the couch, sound asleep. Most of the guests had shuffled off home and only Mickey’s brothers and a stray Gallagher or two remained. Mickey toed Ian gently before squatting down beside him and tickling his nose.

“Hey, Gingerbread,” Mickey whispered as Ian groaned awake. “You know you’ve actually got a bed here, unlike the rest of these losers. You wanna share it with me?”

Ian smiled tiredly and nodded. As Mickey helped him sit up, Ian came to a worrying realization. “Wait a minute, how can you be there if you were-” Ian looked back to discover that instead of snuggling with his husband as he had thought, he had actually made a pillow out of a very longsuffering Tony, the dog. In retrospect, it did explain the inexplicable hairiness. Tony shook himself briefly before trotting over to his dog bed to evict a defiantly snoring Iggy.

“I thought he was you,” Ian murmured as Mickey hauled him to his feet. “I may have said some inappropriate things to him.”

“It’s okay; he’ll bounce back,” Mickey reassured him as they made their way to their room. Mickey eyed Ian quizzically when the latter came to an abrupt halt at the doorway.

“You need to carry me across the threshold,” Ian sighed, apparently feeling quite put upon by the random-ass rules he’d suddenly decided to enforce.

“I thought that was for the front door!”

“Well, we already screwed that up,” Ian pointed out, “but we haven’t been into the bedroom yet, so do over.”

“And why do I have to carry your six foot twelve, three hundred pound ass across?!” Mickey demanded, “how’d we decide that?!”

Ian simply pointed to his face. Logically, Mickey knew Ian was indicating that he was too drunk and unsteady for the task, but Mickey chose to believe Ian was saying he was just too pretty for this sort of thing. Honestly, either excuse would have worked. Mickey rolled his eyes and huffed loudly before hoisting the grinning idiot over his shoulder. “This isn’t how I imagined you blowing my back out tonight,” Mickey grunted.

Ian burst out laughing and then reached out to squeeze Mickey’s butt playfully. “Honk, honk.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Mickey laughed and offloaded Ian onto their bed. Ian only snorted in response as Mickey smiled fondly and started divesting him of his clothes. “Fucking lightweight--one bottle of that fancy grape piss and you’re this fucked.”

“Fucking bipolarism, man,” Ian laughed. “I coulda been a contender.”

“Fuck being bipolar, you’re just soft, bougie and getting old,” Mickey teased. “Hey, I’m not saying I’m exempt,” he added when Ian raised an accusing brow at him. “Fuck, Iggy offered me a bump earlier and my heart almost exploded just looking at that shit. When was the last time I even did coke or even came close to partying like I did back in the Southside? I’m soft as shit now,” he lamented.

“Not where it matters,” Ian sang out and used his foot to playfully rub Mickey’s crotch. He grinned as Mickey giggled like a kid. “Why aren’t you in bed yet?”

“Because undressing a drunk, ten foot man-child is harder than you’d think. Just give me a sec.”

Mickey finally shrugged off his clothes and crawled into bed and huffed a laugh as Ian clumsily flopped into his favourite position to rest on his chest. He ran his hand through Ian’s hair and grinned as Ian hummed contentedly. “You like that, daddy?” He could feel Ian’s smile against his chest. He continued smoothing Ian’s hair as the latter’s breathing evened out. For a while, there was nothing but stillness and silence, and Mickey figured his husband had long fallen asleep. He was startled a moment later when Ian’s voice cut into the quiet.

“You think it’s true,” Ian began, “what Carrie said about all the different universes and versions of us being out there?”

“You’re still thinking about that?”

“Yeah, it kind of stuck,” Ian admitted, “I usually hate it when someone puts a thought in my head I can’t shake, but I like that one. So what do you think?”

Mickey shrugged. “Carrie is full of that hippie-dippie shit. I don’t know, I can barely keep up with this one reality.”

“I believe it,” Ian said softly, “I think it’s amazing--the idea that we’re out there just finding each other again and again, figuring it out in a million different ways.”

“Except for when we aren’t?”

Ian blew a raspberry and huffed, “shut up, we’re in the business of happy endings right now, and if you make a massage parlour joke, I’ll twist your tits off.”

“So sensitive in this universe,” Mickey teased, but he could feel Ian stirring. Clearly most of the booze had worn off and Ian was getting a slight second wind.

“What do you think we’re doing right now?”

“Huh?”

“You know, in another reality,” Ian prodded, “what are we like? What are we doing? Where are we?”

Mickey blinked and scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “I dunno...back in the Southside?’ he suggested and sighed when Ian looked up at him expectantly. “Maybe we met on the train, or--or at the ball ground? I don’t know.”

Clearly that wasn’t going to cut it. Mickey sighed again and took another stab at spinning fantasy. “Okay, so maybe I’m a gangster,” he began and ignored Ian’s censorious huff, “and you’re the stripper with the heart of gold…”

“Groundbreaking,” Ian said dryly. “And I keep telling you that I was never a stripper. I just never wore that much clothes to begin with.”

“Anyway! Maybe we do the ‘will they, won’t they?’ thing for a minute before we decide to say ‘fuck it’ and run off together to escape all that shit, you know?”

Ian softened at the thought and grew a little more receptive to that universe. “Where do we run to? Mexico?”

“Fuck Mexico; it’s a million miles away and we’d burn like toast. Why not Canada? It’s like right there and we’d always be able to come back when the heat’s off.”

Ian snorted. “That really all you got?”

“Fuck off; you’re the one with the front-loaded, million dollar imagination,” Mickey groused, “what’re you cooking up?”

“How about a murder mystery universe?” Ian suggested, “falling for each other while we try to unmask and stay ahead of a ruthless serial killer?”

“Of fucking course…”

“Or if you’re so stuck on me being a dancer, maybe it can be less Boys Town and more ballet,” Ian said as he rolled off Mickey and wriggled his way up to his pillow. His eyes shone as he lay next to Mickey.

“Ballet, huh? I guess I could see that. You do have the body for it. Do not make me a freaking dancer!”

“So maybe you’re a pianist then. We’d make beautiful musical art together,” Ian continued. “It doesn’t have to be all out there stuff either. Maybe we were both in the same Little League, or we meet up in foster care and keep each other sane.”

“You’re really into the idea of this,” Mickey laughed and stroked Ian’s cheek. Ian was suddenly wide awake and momentarily amped up, excited and refreshed by the concept.

“It’s just perfect, isn’t it?” Ian sighed, settling down a little under Mickey’s caress. “I mean, it solves the problem, you know?”

“What problem?”

“That it ends,” Ian said. “You’re happy and it’s perfect and you finally have everything you want, but eventually, it ends. It just has to. You’re probably going to be an asshole and conk out on me at some point.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely gonna go first. Ow! Hey--quit!” Mickey squeaked as he struggled to protect himself from Ian’s pinches. “What, you wanted a spoiler alert?”

Ian ignored him and went back to his thought. “It just makes me feel better; knowing that when it ends here, we’ll just start over somewhere else. That way it never really does end, you know? God, I should shut up. I’m still fucked up.”

“No, I get you. I mean, yeah it’s nice,” Mickey said as he watched Ian’s energy wane and ebb again for sleep to creep back in.

“All I know is I love you too much for it to last just one lifetime,” Ian murmured and Mickey felt his chest constrict a little.

“Hockey universe,” Mickey burst out suddenly.

“Huh?” Ian blinked before catching on a little. “What, like a universe where everyone plays hockey?”

“No, not everybody. We play hockey...like we’re rivals or whatever. I take it to you on and off the ice.”

Ian grinned at the idea. “I can see it. Maybe I’m a soldier and you’re the charming local I meet somewhere, who pretends he can’t speak English just to mess with me.”

“Oh, so I’m an asshole?”

“You’re always an asshole. Oh, you know what? Groundhog Day-type deal, where time just keeps looping until I figure out how to get next to you.”

“Wouldn’t that shit drive you insane?” Mickey laughed.

“Nah, I’d love that. You know me--sometimes I need a few tries to get it right.”

* * *

Ian was not fond of waking up alone and Mickey knew that well enough. So it was a testament to how late it was when Ian finally stirred to find Mickey’s half of the bed empty. Mickey had kept the curtains drawn and let Ian sleep in. He sat up slowly. His mouth felt like sawdust and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. All from a few sips of champagne--disgraceful. He made his way off the bed and went in search of his wayward husband.

He was a little thrown by the brightness outside his room as he stepped out into the passageway. He looked towards the living room filled with strong sunlight, with the incredible New York skyline framed by his windows. Not for the first time it struck him just how incredible it all was; how insane. He stood still for a moment, squinting at the picture it made and wondering if he peered closely enough, maybe he’d see the seams where his fantasy was wallpapered over a much bleaker reality.

Where was he really? Maybe laid up in a hospital somewhere--involuntary hold--pumped to the gills with mood stabilizers and god knows what else. Maybe that was all this was, his poor tortured brain offering up some kind of amazing escape from his real hell--overcorrecting into some kind of wealth porn dreamscape. It was insane, if he really thought about it. The whole thing was insane.

He rubbed at his arm absently as he tore his gaze from the increasingly surreal looking picture before him to look at the wall he stood alongside. There was a picture of himself and Mickey together and smiling warmly back at him. He focused on Mickey and wondered about the real deal there. How did his brain come up with that? Was Mick pure imagination or an amalgamation of bits and pieces of other people? The eyes of the nice orderly who didn’t push him around, the face of a guy he’d stolen glances at on the train home, maybe the swagger of a thousand boys he’d seen around the Southside? Where did it all come from? This was the _Beautiful Mind_ problem: because how do you logically reason your way out of a puzzle your broken mind was creating?

A brief, sharp pain yanked him out of his strange spiral. He looked down and Lola yipped and whined at him, having just nipped his ankle to pull his attention. He stared at Lola for a moment before the relief washed over him. Dr. Lester should laugh at him or roll her eyes in their next session, though he knew she wouldn’t do either. She was only going to gently remind him of the same thing she’d told him a thousand times--you just can’t make this shit up.

In the end, that was always the truth of it, whenever he had to pull himself out of the abyss of doubt and confusion. He just couldn’t make this up; maybe someone else could, but not him, not for himself. When his brain chose to trick him, it was always to throw him into some fresh hell, some death spiral into an inevitable crash. Maybe all of this was insane, but it was also as real as anything was going to get.

He smiled when Lola whined again, demanding more attention than stunned staring. He picked her up and laughed as she licked his face eagerly. “Thanks for the reality check,” he murmured to her and scratched her behind her ears. See, this was why Mickey needed to keep his ass put in the mornings.

Ian found his husband at the dining table, blissfully stuffing himself with a mountain of breakfast. He seemed particularly intent on a plate piled high with crispy bacon. If Ian wasn’t sure before that he had no real input in the fabric of this reality, he was sure now. If he had any say at all, he’d have a partner who was at least somewhat aware of the risks of hypertension. Ian cleared his throat and released Lola so she could get in on the bacon action. Mickey looked up and beamed at him, and Ian found himself softly smiling back.

“Hey, Sleepy Face, you finally up?”

“Yeah, after you let me sleep in all morning.”

“Well after all that world surfing you did last night, I figured you’d want to crash a little,” Mickey teased.

Ian rolled his eyes, “oh, here we go. If you think I’m going to eat shit about last night... And after you revealed yourself to be a secret Canadian who wanted to run North and play hockey all day.”

“Really, Baryshnikov? You want to play that game?”

Mickey’s irrepressible grin had Ian actually contemplating it. “You know what, nope! I’m not apologizing for being a dreamer and I’m not letting you ruin a beautiful thought...asshole.”

“And yet you love me too much for it to last just one lifetime,” Mickey teased again and laughed with Ian flipped him the bird with both barrels. “Don’t sweat it; I’m sure there’s at least one universe where you take the piss out of me for some sappy bullshit I said one time.”

Ian’s eyes narrowed as Mickey reached for another piece of bacon. “How many of those have you had?”

Mickey chewed slowly and thoughtfully. He had a sinking suspicion his bacon party was coming to an end. “Like two or something,” he mumbled and quickly took another bite.

“I thought we agreed to watch our salt intake?”

“I am watching it. I looked at each piece carefully before I ate it.”

“I’m sure you’ve had enough,” Ian said, “I’m going to take a shower; I stink.”

“Yeah, you do,” Mickey agreed and Ian flipped him off again as he retreated to their bedroom. Mickey waited a moment before reaching for another piece of bacon.

“I swear to god, Mickey!” Ian thundered from the bedroom and Mickey quickly snapped the piece or meat in half and fed it to the dogs.

“If it can’t be me, I’m glad it’s you guys,” Mickey said mournfully as he solemnly covered the plate. Lola and Tony could only sympathize.

* * *

When Ian reemerged later, he was back to feeling fully human. He found Mickey tidying up in the kitchen, and Ian went over to hug him from behind and bury his face in the crook of Mickey’s neck.

“I put your breakfast in the microwave,” Mickey told him.

“That’s not where my breakfast is,” Ian replied and grinned when Mickey snorted loudly. “Where’s everybody?”

“Fucked off. Debbie and Jaime made breakfast, everyone else tidied up, then they fucked off.”

“We get robbed?”

“Oh, fuck yeah. But they went easy on us. I think they only moved with the Rabinowitz.”

Ian sniffed. “Oh really, so the only thing your brothers took is the one thing you hate?”

“What can I say? Maybe they agreed with you and figured the uglier the shit is, the more they can catch for it.”

Ian was on a mission, so he was going to have to let that slide until later. Instead, he pulled Mickey closer against him and slipped his hand into Mickey’s sweatpants. Mickey inhaled sharply as Ian stroked him slowly and firmly.

“Uh, you don’t want to go back to our room first?” Mickey asked.

“Nope, let’s do it right here,” Ian replied and pulled another soft hiss from Mickey when he ran his finger over the tip of his cock. “When’s the last time we did it in here?”

It had been a while, if they were both honest. But they were both more than willing to exchange the unconventional for the comfortable when it came to their lovemaking. Ian was in a nostalgic sort of mood though, and his mind went back to one of their earliest kitchen encounters.

“You remember after we broke up that first time, and we were trying to get our shit together?” Ian prompted as he ground against Mickey’s ass. “We did it in the kitchen of your crappy apartment and broke that vase Mandy gave you?”

“First of all, my apartment was amazing; fuck you. And second, is that what this is--throwback sex? Is that even a thing?”

“More like an homage,” Ian murmured and turned Mickey to face him. “We did on the table first, you remember?” he asked as he tugged down Mickey’s pants. Mickey sighed with pleasure as Ian nipped at his neck and groped his ass, and Mickey thrust against him, craving the friction and heat.

“I remember it being a lot more aggressive…” Mickey said suggestively, impatient as ever, but Ian wasn’t about to be rushed.

“Like I said, it’s more of an homage.” Ian got to his knees and sucked Mickey down, snuffing out any further suggestions of aggression or speed. He grunted in response as Mickey’s hand fisted in his hair and gripped Mickey’s hips to control his thrusts into his mouth.

Ian paused for a moment to slick his fingers and quickly returned his attention to Mickey’s cock before the latter could get a chance to complain about it. He plunged his mouth down the length of Mickey’s hardened cock and made his fingers match the rhythm inside Mickey’s ass. The grip on his hair tightened even further and he could feel Mickey’s groan rippling through him.

“Fuck, get on me,” Mickey begged hoarsely and Ian smirked as he pulled away and got to his feet.

“Right on cue,” Ian said as he retrieved the lube from his pocket. “Still need this. You used to call me Gallagher even during sex back then. You were a hard nut to crack.”

“ _This_ is a hard nut to crack, Jesus Christ, Ian,” Mickey said exasperatedly. He wasn’t about to let Ian spend half the time musing about encounters long passed. He kicked off his pants the rest of the way and pulled off his T-shirt. “You wanna chit chat or you wanna get on me?”

Ian’s fucking cocky grin would get Mickey every time. It cut through his annoyance and tempered his impatience as Ian took his sweet damn time taking off his clothes and slowly lubing his cock. Mickey hated to wait, but damn if it didn’t make the hottest picture.

“I wanna get on you,” Ian said huskily and Mickey felt that familiar frisson of anticipation course through him. Mickey turned around and leaned over the counter, bracing for the feel of Ian’s hands on his hips and the hardness of his cock to push inside him.

“Actually, didn’t we do it on the dining room table back then?”

From Mickey’s point of view, their table was miles away and Ian was being a pedantic dick. “I swear to god, Ian, if you don’t ah, haa…” He fell for it every single time, letting Ian rile him up just so the jerk could get off on derailing his rant in the best way. It was always the best type of relief as Ian filled him. This time Ian didn’t keep him waiting, and their voices quickly filled the kitchen as Ian thrust harder and faster, rocking Mickey forward against the countertop. “Ah, fuck, don’t stop!”

Ian pressed closer to sink his teeth into Mickey’s shoulder as he reached around to stroke him. They lost themselves to the pleasure of it all. Mickey could feel his orgasm building steadily, so he almost yelled in frustration when he felt Ian pull away.

“We finished on the floor,” Ian explained quickly before Mickey could throttle him. “Actually, you knocked me on my ass and then we finished on the floor, if I remember it right.”

Mickey would more than happily knock Ian on his ass at the moment, but the latter had prudently gotten on the floor before Mickey could do any damage. Eager to continue, Mickey quickly followed him down and straddled Ian. He gripped Ian’s cock and gingerly lowered himself onto it. Mickey wasted no time rebuilding their speed and resuming their former pace as he relished the feel of Ian’s fingers digging into his hips.

“Good?” Ian gasped as Mickey moved above him. He raised a questioning brow when Mickey slowed to a halt. “You okay?”

“Let’s flip,” Mickey instructed, “you’re the one that wants to have throwback sex on the kitchen floor, so you’re the one who gets to fuck his knees up.”

“Unbelievable!” Ian huffed as he rolled over until Mickey was on his back beneath him. “You baby,” he accused an uncaring Mickey. “Whatever, I was a soldier for five minutes, I can play through the pain.”

Still, he couldn’t complain too much when Mickey wrapped his legs around him and pulled him down into a searing kiss. He fisted his hand in Mickey’s hair and yanked his head bad so he could bite and suck Mickey’s throat. They were both close; he could feel Mickey convulsing around his cock. He groaned brokenly as Mickey kneaded his ass, before thrusting a finger into Ian’s ass. The move pushed Ian over the edge and he came hard, thrusting hard and fast into Mickey as the latter’s own orgasm overtook him. They came together and then collapsed into an exhausted heap, with Ian slumping on top of Mickey.

There was stillness for a moment as their harsh breathing even out. Eventually, it was Mickey who broke the silence. “So, um, correct me if I’m wrong…”

“Hmm?”

“But did I just hear you yell out ‘consummated!’ when you came, or am I crazy?”

“Not crazy,” Ian grunted as he rolled off an incredulous Mickey.

“Why are you the lamest human being alive?” Mickey burst out laughing.

“Jokes on you,” Ian said triumphantly as he got to his feet. “‘Cause you are now officially married to the lamest human being alive. There was penetration, you came, I came, we all came for ice cream, consummated, baby! No take backs!”

Mickey could only shake his head in disbelief as Ian strutted out of the kitchen to release the dogs from their bedroom exile. Since the coast was now clear, Tony quickly emerged and then trotted over to tell his master to say hi.

“Don’t look at me, Tony. I just let an absolute idiot have his way with me on the kitchen floor.”

“And he’ll do it again in twenty to twenty-five minutes if you get him some fast acting carbs,” Ian yelled from around the corner.

“Which ones are the fast acting--for fucks’ sake--does your breakfast count?!” Mickey yelled back.

“That’ll do!”

Mickey shook his head again as he got to his feet. He had to get himself cleaned up and bring his moron his breakfast.

“You think there’s a universe where he isn’t an idiot?” Mickey asked Tony, who seemed skeptical about the idea. “Yeah, you’re right; I doubt. Besides, who’d want to live there?”

* * *

Lip lost track of how long he’d been sitting in his car, staring at the house just up the road. He needed to get out and start moving before some disgruntled member of the neighbourhood watch came armed with both questions and a tire iron. In the Southside, they were more likely to start swinging the iron first rather than deining to ask questions. He took a steadying breath, got out of the car, and headed to the house to ring the doorbell. A moment later, it opened.

He stared at his greeter nonplussed for a moment, and the pre-teen stared back silently as well. Jesus, this kid had gotten big. Granted, the last time Lip had glimpsed him, the boy had been in a baby carrier, just narrowly avoiding being trash-compacted by his sleep deprived grandmother. Lip idly wondered just what Batshit Sheila was up to these days.

The boy kept staring expectantly and Lip realized he probably should say something other than standing at the door like a creep. “Shit, you got big,” he observed. Probably not the best start, but he was having an odd case of nerves and his mouth had been activated. “Although to be fair, the last time I had a real good look at you, you were fresh from the womb looking at least fifty percent more Asian than I had been anticipating.” The stony silence stretched on. “So, do you not talk or...?”

The young man's silent, blank assessment continued, and Lip realized that it probably had less to do with the child's intellectual challenges and most likely everything to do with the fact that there was a complete stranger at the door rambling like an asshole. “Um, your mom home?”

“Who's at the door?” her voice came floating out as if on cue, and a second later, there was Karen, looking more suburban mom and less like the heart-stomping dominatrix he sometimes envisioned in his nightmares.

“Some weird dude,” her son answered with a roll of his eyes, before immediately losing interest and quitting the scene, leaving the two adults to continue the awkwardness. It was Karen who recovered first, quicker off the mark as always.

“Jesus, Lip? What the fuck are you doing here?”

It was a fair question, and one for which he should have been better prepared. After all, it was the question that he'd been asking himself all the way back to Chicago, into the Southside, and as much as he hated to admit it, all the way back home.

What _was_ he doing here? He guessed that as intangible and illogical the concept of happiness was, inevitably he was going to pursue it using the scientific method, or at least as logically as he could. How do you find happiness again? When you lose something, you'd start looking for it in the last place you left it. As much as he hated to admit that too, the last time he'd been happy, truly happy, was with her.

He had the sinking feeling that this wasn't the end of his chase. The Karen that stood here, puzzled, surprised and growing anxiously annoyed was a world away from the ghost he remembered. She probably didn't have any answers for him. She probably didn't even have the patience for his navel-gazing nonsense but, shit, he had to start somewhere.

“I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd say hi,” he began as she raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Gotta minute?”

Karen hesitated for a moment. He was supposedly all rich and fancy now, but he was still all trash Gallagher through and through. She'd turned over a new leaf ages ago and she'd be fucked if she let him trail his garbage and demons all through her house and into her life again. But she recognized that look, could feel that familiar sucking void in him that she had battled herself for so long. She chewed her inner cheek while weighing the pros and cons a bit longer and eventually stepped aside and ushered him in. Neither of them had ever been the answer the other truly needed, and that wasn't about to change. All the same, she'd been on this journey before. She guessed it wouldn't hurt to give him a few pointers.

* * *

Mickey was aching for a cigarette, or anything to distract him from his growing nervousness and the dampness of his palms. He stood outside the Center contemplating if he was really going to do this. What would Ian say if he just turned tail and ran home? Would he be disappointed or just accept it without judgement? Probably the latter, knowing Ian, but still. Honestly, this shouldn’t be so nerve wracking, but here he was starting to sweat bullets. Before he really could make a run for it, Mandy bumped him.

“Hey, nerd.”

“Hey.”

“You ready?” she asked him.

Mickey sighed and cast another look at the entrance. “Do I really need to do this?”

“You don’t need to do a single thing you don’t want to do,” Mandy told him gently. “But you’ve come this far…”

He sighed again. “You going to be running the group?”

“Nah, I won’t be facilitating tonight. We’ll just hang together.”

“Any tips? What should I expect?”

“You sound like you’re going into a title fight,” Mandy laughed a little, “it’s okay to be nervous about it. Just be yourself and try to relax as much as you can. The only rule is to be respectful. Don’t roll your eyes, or suck your teeth, be dismissive or any of that shit, you know. You’re going to hear some stories in there that might have you thinking ‘that’s it?’ Just sounds like nothing or nonsense to bitch about. On the other hand, you might hear some truly wild shit, like you think they’ve got to be making it up, like no one could survive the things they’re describing. Just listen to everyone’s stories and feelings; they’re all valid. If you need to take a moment, take it; step away if you need to. All you really have to do is be respectful of the others in the group.”

Mickey nodded as Mandy looked at her watch. “We should probably get in there if you still want to do this,” she told him softly.

Mickey took a deep breath. “Fuck it, let’s do this.”

* * *

The group grabbed their chairs and settled down in a circle. Mickey automatically crossed his arms, and could already hear Ian telling him not to get so defensive right off the block. He tried to relax, but couldn’t help it. He felt as if he was bracing for an assault. His heartbeat picked up when the facilitator began her greetings and told the members the obvious--that there was a fresh face present.

“I’m Mickey,” he croaked and jerked his head towards Mandy, “I’m her brother.”

There was a welcoming murmur and some awkward waving, and Mickey was actually relieved that there hadn’t been that automated “Hi, Mickey!” chorus he’d always seen on TV. There was a little more preamble before the facilitator asked if there was anyone who had something they wanted to share or talk about. Before she’d finished asking, a young woman tentatively raised her hand.

“Hi, Julie here,” she began with a small wave and Mickey mortified himself by waving back. The young woman smiled a little brighter though as if encouraged by it, which in turn made Mickey relax a little more. “Ah, so, okay,” she began, then seemed to stall. “The whole thing feels so dumb,” she said sheepishly. There was some reassuring encouragement from the facilitator and Julie seemed to regroup.

“It’s just that I never saw it happening, you know? At first, it didn’t seem like anything much or a big deal. When we just started dating, it was so great--he was so loving and attentive. Nobody had ever really paid any attention to me before. It seemed like he really cared about me. I mean...sometimes he’d tell me that my skirts were too short or something wasn’t right with my outfit. It was just because he didn’t want assholes harassing me when he wasn’t around, you know? Or he’d get a little mad about how much time I’d hang out with my friends, because it was time we could be spending on our relationship?

Honestly, sometimes the things he said could bum me out a lot, but then he’d explain how he was looking out for me, and it actually felt kind of sweet after he made me see what he was trying to do. I just wasn’t used to having anyone to look out for me like that. Even though it kinda sucked at the same time, for the first time ever, I actually felt special?” Julie said uncertainly. “But then…”

There was a tangible shift when that “but then” came. A ripple seemed to move through the room and even Mickey, uninitiated to the ways of the support group, could sense the dark turn the story was about to take. Julie’s eyes were focused on her lap as she fought to continue and Mickey felt that resurgence of panic. As the facilitator and group members around her lent Julie their support and encouragement, Mandy rested a comforting hand on her brother’s thigh. Mickey swallowed hard as Julie found her voice again, and tried to stay present.

* * *

Ian glanced up at the clock for what had to be the hundredth time. Was Mickey supposed to have been home by now? He had no idea how long these support groups could go for. Maybe he shouldn’t have encouraged this at all. Maybe Mickey had been right at the beginning about not needing to go this far. Everyone has their shit, but not everyone needs to sit in a circle and jaw about it endlessly. Mickey was as caring, warm, and as well-adjusted a person Ian was ever going to meet. What was the point of this for him? Ian could just imagine the stories Mick would hear tonight. Did he go just to be triggered and dredge up painful memories?

Ian flopped back into his bed and Lola stirred from her place on his pillow to dutifully trot over to lick his face. This was a good thing, Ian reminded himself. Ultimately, it had been Mickey’s decision and anyone would need a little help processing and dealing with the trauma they had gone through. Besides, Mandy was there, so he knew Mickey was in good hands. That settled, his mind switched to wondering if and when Mickey would have his first breakthrough.

The thought set off another worrying train. Breakthroughs led to realizations, and realizations led to changes. If Mickey stuck with this, what was to stop him from waking up and realizing he’d been razzle-dazzled into shackling himself to an insecure, selfish, psychological time bomb? Ian was startled out of his fretting by his phone going off. He answered the incoming video call.

“Heya, kiddo!”

“Dr. Lester?” Ian responded to his therapist, surprised. “What’s wrong?”

“Well I know Mickey should be in group right now, which means you’re probably home alone and waiting. I figured this would be right around the point where your brain would start eating itself. How’d I do?”

“You’d make a killing in Vegas.”

“Eh, my therapy-fu won’t make a dent in those machines,” Dr. Lester laughed. “But seriously, are you okay?”

Ian paused for a moment. “He’s not going to achieve enlightenment and leave is he?”

Dr. Lester burst out laughing again. “You are adorably predictable. Look, I can’t say definitively what the future holds. Therapy can lead to big changes in people and, ultimately, relationships. But, if I were a betting woman--and you’re the one that says I belong in Vegas--I don’t think you have much to worry about in that respect. You both are trying to improve for your own sakes and for each other. Your base is solid; have faith in that.”

“Should I have gone with him? He wanted me to go with him at one point.”

“You both also struggle a bit with codependency, so I think you made the right call there. You need your own spaces, so maybe let him go on his own for a while. You’ll definitely know when he needs you there next to him.”

“So...you’ll think he’ll be okay?”

Dr. Lester smiled sweetly at him. “Even if he isn’t right now, I know he’ll get there.”

* * *

Ian sat up abruptly when he heard Mickey come in. He caught Lola in time before she could go tumbling off his chest where she had lain sleeping. He gently set her on the bedroom floor and listened as Tony yipped happily outside. When Mickey came into their bedroom, he scratched Lola behind her ears and gently scooted her outside. “Go to bed, guys,” he instructed the dogs and closed the door behind them.

“Hey,” Mickey greeted his husband as he started shrugging off his clothes.

“Hey,” Ian replied as he watched Mickey keenly. The other man looked tired and drained, and Ian bit back the million questions he was burning to ask. He watched silently as Mickey got into his pajamas and wondered if or what he should say. Before he could say anything, Mickey got into bed and crawled over to flop heavily on top of him. Ian instinctively wrapped himself around him, trying to bleed as much warmth and comfort into Mickey as he could.

“I’m glad you’re not an asshole,” Mickey murmured into Ian’s chest.

Ian could hear and feel the weight behind the words. His knee jerk reaction was to lighten the moment, to joke that he was indeed an asshole in all the worst ways. He stopped himself though, because he knew that wasn’t what Mickey needed right then and because he understood exactly what Mickey meant. Somehow they had escaped their old hells and had found something peaceful and beautiful in each other. They both know that with the start they had, they knew their realities could have been very, terribly different.

“I’m glad you’re not an asshole either,” Ian whispered back and buried a kiss in Mickey’s hair.

Mickey eventually fell asleep with Ian holding him tightly. He would tough this whole thing out; and he would do it with Ian’s help. No one may have told him that you had to keep working at your fairytale long after the “ha ppily ever after,” but they would keep making it work, the way most grown folks do.  

 

**THE END**


End file.
